Hadrian Potter: Darkness Returns
by AvatarVecna
Summary: Book Two of the Hadrian Potter series! Divination foreboding haunts our hero's life as he prepares for his second year. A dire warning, strange visions, and a mysterious prophecy all hang over his head as he continues his political struggles. Old friends and new alike will aid him as he works his way into the deeper mysteries of magic. HP/HG. Manipulative Dumbles. RW/MW bashing.
1. Visions

A.N.: Hello, and welcome to the first installment of _Hadrian Potter: Darkness Returns_! As requested by a couple of reviews and, PMs, I've left a little note in the previous story telling of the new book. I've been a bit busy between regular school stuff, college prep, and real life, but here's the new story! While the first book was establishing Harry as a person separate from canon Harry, I've been working on the long term plot for a the last few weeks, and I'm starting to integrate it. As before, I still don't own the Harry Potter universe...or the Star Wars universe...or D&D, for that matter, although I suppose I do technically own Sable, despite not making any money off of her. I did make a few suggestions, but she wasn't willing to...anyway, there's other stuff I need to talk about.

First, this chapter contains a reference to _Princess of the Blacks_, a fem!Harry story by Silently Watches that I stumbled upon recently. It's looking to be a very good political intrigue story so far, and I recommend it to those who like that sort of thing. It starts out kind of dark, but the bad part is only referenced, even inside the story (and is never really described in detail) so it should be fine. The author gives warnings about the content, so if you find you can't handle it, it'll be your own fault for looking, since you were warned. This is one of the first references to another story I've had in my fics where I know where it came from. Yeah, yeah, hooray for me.

The second thing is that I'd like to give notice to one of my reviewers in the previous story: alix33. This woman (or so I've been told) took the time to find several of the small mistakes in my story. The most common mistake is something I've had trouble understanding previously; I went to look up the grammar rules, and believe I've implemented them correctly in regards to apostrophes.

Without further ado, on with the story!

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Chapter One: Visions

—_July 1, 1992—_

_A dark room—living room, possibly? A dark room, but the darkness didn't matter: he could see just fine. Bookshelves lined the wall, standing opposite what may have been a picture window beneath the mass of wooden planks nailed in place. A glance around the room showed it to be in a state of great disrepair: the wooden walls were warped far out of place; the paint was peeling and looked to have faded long ago. The floor and bookshelves were covered in a thick layer of dust, just another sign that this structure had long since been abandoned by the living. Candles, the only sign that the place had ever been illuminated, or indeed, occupied, had long since gone out, the wick burned down, leaving a small puddle of long-since-hardened wax as cold as the grave. But the feeling didn't reach him, the cold that permeated the structure as a whole: he could sense it, but it wasn't as bothersome as he usually found it._

_He seemed to float through the building, which took on a much more sinister feel when he noticed the state of the furniture: while they, like everything else in this place, had a healthy dose of dust, they were also adorned with long, gouging marks, like that of a great beast. Involuntarily, he shivered in a way that had nothing to do with the freezing temperature. Suddenly, a noise pierced the silence, and it seemed to break a spell: he turned his attention to the noise. It wasn't a scream, or a whimper, or some other noise of suffering: it sounded like conversation. Although quite quiet, it was as clear as day in the unnatural silence that seemed to filled this place._

"_Alright, let's converse: who are you, where am I, and why did you bring me here?" The first voice was barely a whisper; it sounded hoarse, as if from disuse. Obvious, however, was the caution in their voice, as if they didn't trust the other; were they paranoid, or were they rightfully cautious of the other person?_

_"You aren't exactly in a position to demand information..." The second voice was softer, and seemed silky smooth. It was inviting, but there was a hint of danger hidden beneath the surface, giving some credence to the first voice's reservations. "...but I will indulge you nonetheless. Who I am is of little consequence: I am a servant of my master, and that is all that matters at the moment. I'm sure you recognize this place: from my understanding you spent a great deal of time here in your youth."_

_He had found where the voices were coming from: he had passed through the walls, past a pair of sentries that looked to him like ghostly skeletons; they paid him no attention. He floated over to the door the voices seemed to be emanating from._

"_As for why you're here, you are to be...questioned. Interrogated, really. What happens after that is dependent on your answers...as well as my master's wishes."_

"_Why would what I have to say matter?" the first voice said. He found he could not pass the door, although there was no apparent reason why he couldn't. Frustrated, and without any other recourse, he continued eavesdropping._

"_You may or may not have committed crimes against my master; that is what we are here to determine. He will be here shortly...and your fate will be decided, for good or ill."_

Hadrian started forward with a soft cry, nearly toppling out of his bed. Taking a few seconds to fruitlessly check his Occlumency barriers, he still found no breaches, the same as the last two times. He shakily got up and made his way over to the small mirror hanging on the wall, looking for physical signs of Dark Arts abuse; any sign that his experiments were beginning to be too much for him. Finding none, and with no mental sign of problems, he let out a frustrated sigh; these visions were getting out of hand, and he had no idea what was causing them. The first vision early on in the summer had been just a tombstone: not his own, thankfully; that would be surreal. Actually, it seemed to be the tombstone of one Tom Riddle, although something made him doubt that it was Voldemort's grave. Sure enough, his research the next day into the Riddle family had found the grave of Tom Riddle Sr., the son of a minor noble in a place called Little Hangleton. The grave was on the Riddle property, right next to his parents. Their deaths were a local legend: all three had been found in their house, sitting at their table, wearing the dinner clothes. There had not been a single mark on any of their bodies, and yet they were unmistakably dead, leaving authorities and physicians alike had been baffled. Harry suspected the Killing Curse had been involved, and he was fairly sure as to who was to blame for their deaths.

In his second vision, he had watched himself racing through some sort of cavern: it looked similar to some of the dungeons in Hogwarts, but they looked to be less traveled, if the mold seeping down the walls were anything to judge by. He had no idea what was going on there at all; he just kept turning down corner after corner, glancing back behind him on occasion, and pausing to listen before moving on. The vision had ended when, turning once more, he had come to a dead end. And now, a pair of figures having a conversation in a building that looked like it hadn't seen life in at least a decade. This had been the first very detailed vision: for starters, there were people besides himself involved...conversation even. But unfortunately, without context, the vision was of no use to him whatsoever. He had no idea what was going on in that scene, nor why it was relevant to him. Without such information, he had no ground to stand on. Had it just been a clairvoyant vision, allowing him to see what was happening elsewhere, or was it also a glimpse into the future? Was it possibly postcognitive in nature instead, allowing him to view past events? The possibilities were too numerous: he was clueless as to how to proceed.

To be perfectly frank, he was deeply annoyed: nine months away from his aunt and uncle hadn't been enough. If Potter Manor was in good repair...but no, it was better to stay here, since Dumbledore was probably monitoring the house and him, he'd have to stay. He'd figured out who the snitch was, though: it was Mrs. Figg, a widow woman that lived down the block. Harry had been forced to stay with her several times in the past when the Dursleys went on vacation without him. She had always treated him fairly, though, so she didn't join the list of enemies...especially since, if she ever mentioned any signs of abuse, it would have been to Dumbledore, who wouldn't have done anything about it at the time. Things hadn't gone so well when Harry came home for the summer; it appeared that, in his absence, Vernon's confidence in his own abilities had soared. He had attempted to confront Harry about who was in charge around the house, but Hadrian had dealt with that quickly enough.

—_Flashback—_

"_Uncle, before you do something stupid, I have several facts that are relevant to this situation that are particularly important for you." Seeing his uncle pause, however slightly, in his tirade, he continued. "I was not expecting to return here this summer, but it is an unfortunate necessity. Had I any choice in the matter I would be spending the summer in more accommodating surroundings. This may happen again next summer, but definitely not the summer after that."_

_Aunt Petunia piped up "I know you're not allowed to use...that stuff over the holidays: it's against the law. You have no power over us."_

_Harry shook his head sadly, clicking his tongue as if he was reprimanding a small child. "Aunt Petunia, the thing about the law is that it only matters if someone knows the law is being broken, and for whoever knows to care enough to call you on it. Neither situation applies here, for reasons I'll explain. My own experiments over the past hour or so indicate that the Ministry cannot detect magic that isn't used with a wand, so anything I do without one is off the grid. As you no doubt remember, I never needed such a thing to keep you two in line. The second half, however, is far more interesting: were anybody to find out, it is more likely that you would be punished for driving me to it than I would be for using magic against you. You see, the magical world, politically, is run by powerful, rich Lords. The are from old families, families that have, over time accumulated a great deal of power. The political system in place is similar to England's prior to the Magna Carta, where a person's titles were all that mattered; where the rich families ruled over the masses with an iron fist."_

"_And just why is this relevant?" his uncle asked in a restrained voice._

"_Because in magical society, the Potters are one such family. The Potter family established itself in England at the same time the Romans did. They built up a fortune, gained some titles, and today are one of the most powerful families in the country. Then we have you: whereas the old money families the equivalent of medieval lords—"_

"L_et me guess: I'm some peasant," Uncle Vernon sneered. "They think they're better than me."_

"_From their point of view, they are, and there's not a lot proving them wrong. You are also incorrect on your first point. You are not a peasant: in this comparison, you would be black." The shock on his uncle's face was nearly priceless, but he continued: "This means that, even on the off chance that I'm discovered using magic against you two, the case would get thrown out of court and, after I'd had my say, you would most definitely be punished for how you treated me when I was younger—"_

"_We treated you the way you deserved to be treated!" his uncle interrupted irritably._

"_We can argue that all day, but the courts won't see it like that," Harry replied smoothly. "You, having no blood relation to any member of a magical house, would be punished the most: prison, for abusing a magical child—the heir to a Most Ancient and Noble House, at that—possible even a death sentence. Whether you'd be thrown through the Veil of Death or just cursed is anyone's guess. It's even possible you'll be given the Dementor's Kiss." Seeing the confusion on their faces, he sighed and said "They'll force a shadow demon to eat your soul." That got the horrified reaction he'd been expecting. "Aunt Petunia would get off a bit easier, but not much. She'd probably be ruined financially and left to live on the streets; this would only happen because her sister married into the House of Potter. Dudley would probably become a ward of House Potter, but only because he's been nice to me when he wasn't acting the part."_

"_I think you'll agree, then, that it's best if the magical government doesn't get involved. Our agreement still stands: I stay out of your way for the most part, and vice versa. We interact only when necessary to give off an image of...familial solidarity. I'll be going to my room now. Good day," he said as he gestured towards his trunk, charming it to follow him (a slightly more difficult levitation charm, especially since he did it wandless). He walked upstairs, his trunk behind him as his relatives looked on in horror._

—_End Flashback—_

His uncle, having gotten the point, avoided Harry from then on to avoid unnecessary incidents. He and Dudley had gotten along as usual, although because of how often Harry was holed up in his room, they didn't just play games very often—it was usually discussing school stuff. Harry would tell Dudley of some adventure or other that had happened at Hogwarts, while Dudley would talk about how great he was doing on the wrestling team at Smeltings. His academic accomplishments were few and far between, but he had been getting tutoring and was already doing much better.

But back to his "family": despite the interesting conversation with his cousin, Harry found himself craving human contact much more than he ever had before: it seemed that spending a year around people that weren't half-bad had forced him to open up quite a bit from the paranoid, closed-off persona he'd adopted over the years. This was only a problem because the only person he was in constant contact with was Draco: there was never a reply to any of the letters he sent out to anyone else—actually, he hadn't received letters from anyone else, period. He'd been expecting to be in contact with several of his friends, including Hermione, but for whatever reason, they wasn't responding. He'd been especially stubborn in trying to communicate with Hermione, and had even tried sending letters through the muggle post: he'd been trying to determine whether a certain powerful wizard was blocking his mail, but didn't think the man would think of muggle post. This dead end had frustrated him severely, particularly since Hedwig wasn't very happy with him giving someone else his letters.

His conversations with Draco had resulted in a visit to Malfoy Manor on June 21, the summer solstice. The Malfoys, as always, would be throwing an extravagant dinner party for the higher level members of wizarding society: for years, ever since the fall of Voldemort, the Malfoy's solstice celebration, whether summer or winter, had been something to see. Of course, as he was taking a more active role in the management of The most Ancient and Noble House of Potter, he had received an invitation.

It had gone alright for the most part: he'd gotten to talk to Draco quite a bit, as well as several of the other Slytherin students: Theo, Pansy, Daphne (and her little sister Astoria), Millicent, and several upper year Slytherins who, for the most part, ignored the younger students in favor of socializing with their friends or, more likely, the adults. Terrence was virtually the only student not in his year that Hadrian conversed with, and the reason for that was obvious. Harry spent most of the night holding a conversation with Draco while observing the behavior of the attendees. Much as Draco had described the winter solstice party, the adults were getting drunk while talking politics—not a good combination. What he noticed was that, although he often asked an elf for a refill, Lord Malfoy never actually took a sip of his wine. Harry doubted anyone else had noticed, but he did; even better, he understood the point of it: people were more malleable after a few drinks: he was softening them up, getting them drunk, and then would pull them aside to sign a contract.

Harry doubted any such contract would be beneficial in the slightest to the signers, but decided to leave the situation be for now; it would be useful information later. Lord Malfoy had eventually approached him and asked what he thought of the party. The conversation that followed was spent subtly maneuvering around damning statements, all while trying to give the impression that Harry trusted Lord Malfoy and believed in the pureblood cause. His performance was quite convincing...or Lord Malfoy was only pretending to believe it. Either way, he didn't need to worry about the well-versed politician blocking him at every turn.

Overall, the night had turned to his advantage: while he had not made any bogus contracts for drunk attendees to sign, he had gained valuable blackmail on over a dozen Heads of House, whether from their drunken boasts, or their gossipy kids. Apparently, Lady Nott was having an affair with Lord Flint, because her own husband had taken a mistress and hadn't been with her for a while. Both Lady Malfoy and Lord Parkinson frequented a muggle club/brothel in downtown London only referenced as 'Candyland'...Harry wasn't sure why that was discussed in such hushed voices as if it were scandalous, so he just filed the information away to investigate later. Finally, several of the Lords and Ladies present were worried: apparently, the Ministry, acting on anonymous tips, had been investigating rumors of Dark artifacts and objects in the possession of several prominent "fine upstanding purebloods" by doing raids of various households and family manors. Lord Malfoy didn't appear worried, but Harry could tell that was just because he was very good at hiding it. He had declined Draco's offer to spend the rest of the summer there: he knew that Lord Malfoy would try and pull something at some point if he stayed, so he bid his friend farewell for the summer, traveling home in the same manner he'd arrived.

Putting aside his thoughts, he glanced at his watch, only to groan as he noticed that it was nearly four in the morning. Turning off the lights, he rolled over in an attempt to get some sleep. Several hours later, Harry awoke. Stretching, he got out of bed and continued working on his latest interest: deciphering journals. You see, Nickolas had visited earlier in the summer, but he'd been discreet about it: the Dursleys hadn't suspected that he was a wizard up until he was already inside the house, when he asked to speak to Harry. His conversation with the ancient alchemist had an interesting conclusion: Harry could keep the Stone. According to Nickolas, he and Perenelle had grown tired of living and were ready for their next adventure—it was the betrayal by Albus that had pushed their plans forward. He told Harry that both he and his wife had a small store of the Stone's life-giving substance, enough to give them a few years, which they planned to spend away from the Wizarding world. They would die a peaceful death, but the problem was that, of their many descendants, none were worthy of the Stone: they were all greedy, and Nickolas had lost any faith that they would use the Stone for the Greater Good of the Wizarding world. Nickolas had come by to drop off a notebook containing his notes on the Stone, to prevent anyone else from making one they shouldn't. Bidding Harry goodbye, he Apparated out, leaving a shocked Slytherin in his wake.

Harry came out of his stupor after several minutes and immediately began going through the journals. What he found was disheartening: the journals appeared to be written in some kind of short hand; what's more, many had incomplete sections, as if they'd been started but never finished, and what little he could understand discussed theory far above where he currently was. This was, perhaps, because the notes weren't meant to be read or deciphered by anyone but the Flamels; Nickolas had said that he was giving them to Harry to keep them out of the wrong hands, after all; perhaps the intention was for no one to create another Stone. Besides, Harry thought, it wasn't as if he understood it anyway: it could take years to figure out the code, and longer still to master potions and alchemy theory...but then, with one working Stone, he wasn't exactly pressed for time. So he'd split his time between creating minor alchemical items and attempting to decipher the higher-level notes, despite the difficulty they were giving him.

So far this summer, the thing taking up most of his time was discovering what caused electronics to malfunction around magic. He'd started out just casting low-power spells and observing them in mid-flight. After a great deal of experimentation, he had figured out that most every combat spell took the magical energy put into it and made it into a drop of plasma loaded with latent power that would be released upon impact. It had to be a significant impact, such as with a physical object; this kept the drop from detonating prematurely by hitting air molecules, or precipitation (with the obvious exception of hail). Upon impact, the drop would release its energy, affecting the target in some way. Alternatively, the caster could 'tell' the spell to detonate before significant impact, if so wished before casting; this allowed for spells to affect air, water, or other substances not very solid.

While interesting, this was not helpful to his original query, so he returned to thinking. After a while, he figured out what he'd done wrong: spells were a physical manifestation of magic, not pure magic, and pure magical energy was what caused the problem. Remembering a technique from before he'd joined the Wizarding world, he concentrated, quickly slipping into the old feeling, pushing the magic into his eyes, he lifted his arm into view, to watch it glow with magic. It was brighter than it had been the last time he'd done this...but then, that had been over a year ago. He had obviously become more powerful since then, and this was proof. The light was a mix of blacks, grays, greens, and reds, with a hint of gold, just like always. It still told him nothing. frustrated, he sat down, pondering what to do next. Perhaps if he observed other magical beings, he could get a comparison, but where would—

Suddenly, there was a knock at his door. Harry frowned, wondering who it could be. He went over and opened the door, only to find his uncle on the other side, looking a bit flustered. "Boy," he began in a slightly belligerent tone, revealing his distracted state, "A pair of Grunnings' top clients will be over tonight for dinner. They don't know about you, but if you wished, you could...join us for dinner." The man seemed to cringe while saying it.

Harry stared at his uncle, surprised by what he was seeing. Pulling himself out of his stupor, he replied "No thank you; I have a great deal of work that needs attending. Besides, it would probably be for the best that I wasn't involved."

"Alright then," Vernon said, clearly uncomfortable with being there. "Goodbye, then." He wandered off, leaving Harry standing there, pondering what he'd seen. When Vernon had appeared in the doorway, he'd seemed to be just barely glowing with...magic? Yes, he'd been just barely glowing a sickly yellow colour. Harry knew Vernon wasn't magical, so what had caused that? Harry closed the door and looked around the room, sharpening his focus. The entire room seemed to come alive: while he himself glowed like a bonfire, the items in the room seemed as if candles, but that they glowed at all was a surprise. Harry went over to his window and opened it. Looking out the window, his vision quickly confirmed his suspicion: the grass, the trees, the air itself were ever so slightly aglow with magic...more so than, say, the old toys he could see in the neighbor's yard, or from Vernon's car.

Perhaps it was that he was on Privet Drive. That could be the problem; perhaps Dumbledore had put up wards or something and they were affecting the area. Making up his mind, he cast a mild detection charm on his room to let him know if anyone came by while he was gone, and he shadow-traveled away, appearing in some dark alley somewhere in London. It was getting a bit dark out, but there was still a good hour of light or so before he should return. He looked around, and here it was the same: there were a couple of bums deeper down the alley that were glowing enough to stand out from the background. Everything was just barely luminescent, but living creatures appeared to glow just a little bit brighter, and much brighter if magical in nature. Still not enough data, though: he needed to know why. Focusing once more, Harry found himself deep in the Scottish forest, where the trees were so think, it seemed like it was nighttime. His hypothesis appeared to be correct: the trees were all glowing a bit, as was every other creature in the area, especially—

_Whamm! _A large body slammed into him. Harry cursed, toppling to the ground as his attacker turned to try and pin him. Harry tried to get up, or get a grip on his wand, but the person grabbed his arms and threw him to the ground, dazing him. Focusing, he could barely make out the person above, but what he saw caused him to redouble his efforts to throw the person off him: their skin was quite pale, and their open mouth showed abnormally long canine teeth. He tried concentrating, but they were already leaning down towards him. He focused on the pain, preparing to transform.

_Snff. Snfffff._ Sniffing? Suddenly, the pressing weight was gone. He opened one eye, and saw the vampire was no longer leaning over him but was already almost out of sight, casting a fearful glance over its shoulder. And it was gone. Harry stood up shakily, his head still pounding from the bloodsucker's initial charge and follow-up attack. _"What the hell just happened?" _he thought to himself. Staring at where the vampire had retreated, Harry realized that the battle had caused him a lapse of concentration sufficient to end his mage sight. Growling a bit at the annoyance, Harry recast it and continued making observations about his environment—keeping his wand at the ready, in case he was ambushed again. He saw several near-black auras darting through the trees above and around him, but none of them ever came close enough to raise any suspicions. After one came too close for comfort, Harry decided to leave, taking to the shadows. Just before he left, he felt a pulse of familiar magic: someone had entered his room.

Hadrian appeared just outside of #4; as it was rather late in the day, he was able to hide from the passing car in the shadows to ensure he hadn't been seen. He quickly made his way into the house and, having noticed the unfamiliar car parked in the driveway, temporarily silencing both his footsteps and the door so as not to alert anyone to his presence: there was no need to alert the Masons that there was someone else living here, as it would bring up questions of why he wasn't dining with them. As he passed by the dining room, he heard the tail end of Vernon's Japanese Golfer joke—"The businessman turned to him and said "What do you mean "Wrong Hole?" Paying the chortling voices little heed, he made his way upstairs, where he could here a small repetitious thumping noise. He knew that Hedwig was out hunting for food, and that Cheshire was more than likely enjoying himself with one of Mrs. Figg's Kneazles, and so he had no idea what could be making such a noise. Arriving at his door, he silenced it before entering, only to find a small, humanoid creature joyfully jumping on his bed. Shutting the door and thankful for the spell he'd cast around the door frame, he cleared his throat; the creature immediately stopped, turning towards him, giving Hadrian his first good look at it.

It was almost like a small child in proportions: a small, thin body, with a head that seemed too large for its frame and bulging, bright green eyes, reminiscent of a pair of tennis balls. Its ears were almost like a bats: overly large, triangular, and flappy. It stood just under a meter in height, and yet it probably didn't even weigh 5 stone: it looked painfully thin, as if it was poorly nourished. Combined with the bruises that seemed to cover its limbs, the bandaged shoulder, and the second filthiest, most threadbare excuse for clothes he'd ever seen, he concluded that this creature was a rather young house elf, and a severely ill-treated one at that. He appeared to be glowing a bright dark green colour, but that was just the mage sight.

"Harry Potter!" the creature exclaimed, breathless.

Harry inwardly groaned: a fan. "Yes, yes...if you please, who are you, and why are you here?"

The elf's expression became apologetic. "Dobby is sorry, Mr. Harry Potter Sir, Dobby didn't mean to intrude...but he had to warn you. I is Dobby, and I is coming heres to warn you that..." here, he seemed to choke up; more than likely, he was trying to say something that violated his bond of servitude.

"You have come here to warn me of danger..." Harry said. Dobby nodded slightly, still struggling. "A danger that was or will be caused by your master..." Another nod. "And you can't tell me what the danger is." Another nod. "Why am I in danger from it?"

"Dobby cannot say; master wouldn't want Dobby telling, but Dobby had to warns Harry Potter: Harry Potter must not be going backs to school!"

Hadrian sighed. "Dobby, I appreciate the warning, but without knowing what the danger is, I can't sacrifice my education for it, or the chance to make...friends," he said, meaning political allies (mostly). Resolutely, he continued: "Besides, I don't think the Wizarding world would allow me to simply withdraw from Hogwarts: both Dumbledore and the Ministry would be quite against such an action and might even force me to attend. Without knowing what the danger is, and how serious it is, there would be no way to convince them otherwise. If you were willing to tell them your suspicions—" the elf's vigorous head-shaking indicated otherwise. "Then I'm afraid I'll have no choice in the matter."

Dobby looked sad for a moment, before saying "Harry Potter is right: the Ministry peoples would wants yous to go. Maybe Dobby could...give hints?" he asked nervously.

Harry shrugged. "Thanks for the warning: I'll keep an eye on things." Seeing the elf about to leave, he acted on a hunch and asked "Dobby...do you know why I haven't been receiving letters from my friends?"

Dobby began saying "Bad Dobby!" over and over, slapping his forehead as he did so, an action that Harry quickly put a stop to. Regaining his composure, the strange little house elf said "Dobby is sorry: he thoughts that...that maybe if Harry Potter didn't thinks his friends cared about him, he wouldn't wants to be going back to school." He snapped his fingers, and a pile of letters appeared on Harry's bed.

Hadrian's eyes narrowed slightly. He sighed, then said "Dobby, while I appreciate your warning, and I know your heart was in the right place, you do realize that you have also done wrong by these people by stopping them from communicating with me." The elf's face drooped in shame. "Now, while I know that, since I'm not your master, I can't give you an order, I would appreciate it if you were to apologize for what you did to these people. Should you choose to do so, remember that some of the people are muggleborns and that you aren't to do magic in front of muggles who aren't already aware of magic."

The strange elf nodded eagerly. "Dobby wills do, Harry Potter. Goodbye!" he exclaimed, disappearing with a small pop. Sighing, Harry returned to his discovery: magic was present in most everything in existence, but was especially abundant in living creatures, even if they weren't magical in nature. That sounded familiar, he thought...and then he remembered where he'd heard something like that: _"The force is an energy field created by all living things, it surrounds us, it penetrates us, it binds the galaxy_ together." Could it be that simple? If magic was generated by all living things...including every plant, every germ or virus...the implications were enormous; just considering possible ways he could take advantage of this were making his head hurt. Remembering his original query, he decided to leave that discovery to another day; the fight earlier had left him quite sore, and he was tired besides. He turned off the lights and went to bed, the comfort welcome after his stressful day.

Meanwhile, somewhere in downtown London, a little girl was watching a movie with her parents. It was an attempt to get her mind off of her best friend abandoning her. Hermione Granger just couldn't bring herself to be interested in watching "Mary Poppins" for the fourth time in the past month: she couldn't stop wondering what had happened to Harry. Had he abandoned her? Was he unable to respond? Was Dumbledore blocking his mail, or maybe the Dursleys? She knew he didn't get along with his relatives...maybe he had kept them in line with magic before, but now the Ministry wouldn't write it off as accidental magic. If that were true, then he'd be at their mercy! But she wasn't sure what was happening, wasn't sure what to think or do about it. So she just kept agreeing to watch movies with her parents. Suddenly, there was a pop that didn't come from the movie. Hermione returned her thoughts to the real world, only to find that there was a small being dressed in what looked like a filthy pillowcase standing in the middle of her living room, looking sheepish and apologetic; her parents were stock-still, shocked at the intrusion.

"Dobby..." the thing said. "Dobby is here to apologize for what he's done...Dobby has been blocking misseses Granger's mail to the great Harry Potter, and his to her. Dobby is fixing his mistake, and wanted to apologize to young miss." Hermione noticed her parents stiffen a bit at the mention of Harry, but paid it no mind, returning her attention to the creature named Dobby. He stood there awkwardly, his eyes screwed shut as if waiting for some rebuke. When none came, his eyes cracked open a few degrees, and he straightened before saying. "Dobby must bes goings now...Dobby needs to tell other peoples 'sorry'." With that said, the small creature placed a small pile of letters addressed to her from Harry on the coffee table and disappeared from the room, leaving a very confused family in his wake. Hermione felt a little flicker of hope; deflecting her parent's questions about the creature (she knew it was a house elf, but that was it), she finished the movie and, bidding her parents goodnight, went upstairs to pen a letter to Harry. Hopefully, this one would get a response.

_—July 19, 1992—_

Hadrian Potter was much happier than he had been just a couple of weeks ago: since the night Dobby had appeared, his friends and acquaintances had been in constant contact with him, especially Hermione: she had obviously been just as worried about him as he'd been about her: her first letter wasn't so much a message as it was a piece of paper that had been dipped into Hermione's stream of consciousness: elves teleporting into her living room, or worrying about Harry, or agonizing over her grades... the list went on and on. Harry had sent her a letter reassuring her of his safety and well-being, while asking about her own. She calmed down a bit once she finally received a reply, it seemed, as her next letter was much easier to follow.

In their letters, they talked about all kinds of things, like the fact that Dumbledore had visited her in the hospital wing. After Harry had been gone for a while, Dumbledore had come in with a few Aurors who were there to arrest the boys who'd cursed him; according to Dumbledore, they would all face a lifetime in Azkaban. Their wands had been checked for Unforgivables, and three of them had cast them in front of the Headmaster. However, all of the boys were pleading the Imperius Curse, and were likely to get off without charges, the Headmaster had told her.

What had followed was a conversation where the Headmaster had attempted to persuade Hermione to stop associating with Harry, as it had resulted in her being harmed. After several arguments were rebuffed, he began attempting to use loyalty charms and other mind-affecting magicks to try and ease her into it. These low-powered charms (they had to be to avoid detection or mental trauma) were rebuffed by her Occlumency shields, which were coming along nicely. After this new tactic had failed, Dumbledore had been more anxious to leave, cutting the conversation short by citing some of his many duties before rushing off in a huff. This conversation, according to Hermione, had caused the Headmaster to lose what little of her respect for him that she had left.

Hermione spent most of her letters alternating between worrying about Harry and telling him about her home life and childhood. Her parents were both dentists, working together running what had started out as an entrepreneurship: her father was a registered M.D., and had received his degree from Oxford, while her mother acted as his assistant and handled the business side of things. Over the years, the business had grown, until they had several dentists working for their growing company. These days, they rarely saw clients personally, opting to handle the equally challenging tasks of raising the world's most curious child and running a dentist company that counted a few members of Parliament (such clients were the few to almost always be worked on by Dr. Granger personally).

Having not had the opportunity often as children themselves, the two parents tried to give Hermione everything she could want, including parents who loved her. As a result, her childhood hadn't really been lacking in anything but friends, which was more due to her intelligence than anything: the schools she went to pandered to snobby rich kids, who often thought learning was a waste of time and had mocked her for her passion. This had resulted in a couple of transfers for Hermione, but this worked out well for Hermione, as she eventually was put into the gifted program, putting her among like-minded children.

Her parents had been quite surprised to learn that some of the weird things that had happened around their daughter over the years were due to magic; they'd been even more surprised (and impressed) to learn that she magical potential to qualify for a scholarship to a prestigious school that taught young witches and wizards how to use their magic. Now, the Grangers were quite well off, but they had no Galleons to pay with, as the magical world had little use for pounds (except for the goblins), but a full scholarship was rare and very beneficial; between financial aid, a promised education in her abilities, and a record of safety even during times of war, her parents were convinced to allow her to attend.

They had accompanied her into Diagon Alley with Professor McGonagall, who assisted the muggleborn students in purchasing supplies (she and the Headmaster were the only ones with access to the school funds), and had been suitably awed by the wonders contained within the alley. They had taken advantage of Gringotts' conversion service of exchanging pounds into galleons (and vice versa), in order to have the funds necessary to purchase some reading material outside of school required texts, both for Hermione's personal education, and to increase their own understanding of the magical world. The picture they'd gained of this world had worsened with every page: the blatant discrimination against students, like Hermione, coming from muggle families was all-encompassing, affecting every aspect of this new world. Despite this, because the headmaster was one of the paragons of the light, and a driving force behind increased equality for such citizens, they did not change their decision.

This, Harry thought, was at least partially thanks to a law that had been passed in the early days of the Wizengamot: once a magical child is discovered in a muggle home, whether it is their child or not, that child is guaranteed a magical education. If their parents refuse to do so in any way, shape, form, or fashion, or if the child is viewed as being in danger from their parents, they will be removed from their parents' care, and their parents will be made to believe that their child died in an accident; in recent times, this was a gas leak explosion, or something similar. This law had been passed because, at the time, the muggle world was getting very religiously motivated, and people shown to be capable of mysterious things ver viewed with suspicion; a few people would even attack them if they felt it was the right thing to do. This law was intended to prevent muggle parents from abusing, hurting, or killing their child.

A person's store of magical power, their core, is very tricky: it starts out quite weak as a child, but is wild and unlimited in application. As you grow older, you core grows slowly, becoming bigger and bigger. While usually this happens at a near-constant rate, there are three points when there's a massive jump in power: once at age eleven, once at age seventeen, and once at age fifty-nine. It was all about which numbers were most powerful: all three numbers were not only prime, but prime prime numbers. Eleven is the fifth prime, while seventeen is the seventh, and fifty-nine is the seventeenth. What's more, student would only join a magical school when they reached the age of eleven, because that was when their core became powerful enough to consciously channel magic on a regular basis. It also allowed for seven years of education, with the first and last year coming with increases in power.

Anyway, Hermione's last letter said that her parents had been unwilling to let him into their house: according to them, Dumbledore had told them all about what had happened this year. As far as they were concerned, most of what went wrong was Harry's fault, or because of her association with him, and she was told not to associate with him—for her own good, of course. He was a magnet for trouble, and he would drag her down with him, what with his being a bad influence and all. She'd been quick to reassure him that she had no intention of ending their friendship, but it meant that they wouldn't be able to see each other until the school year started. Harry had just sent off a letter to Hermione detailing some of his experiments so far. Noting the time as a little after 10 pm, he decided it was as good a time as any to turn in. He turned off the lights and prepared for a good night's sleep.

Or at least, that had been the plan. A few hours into his rest, Harry was awakened by the revving of an engine...right outside his window. A bit confused, and also still waking up, Harry walked over to the window and looked through, only to see a pair of identical gingers grinning wildly at him; they were currently "parking" a Ford Anglia, which was idling a few meters off the ground.

"Harry!" said Fred, who was driving. "How are you this fine morning?"

"License and registration, please," Harry deadpanned.

"What?" Fred said, his confusion evident.

Harry sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Never mind. What are you guys doing here?"

"Well, me and George," George said, forgetting Harry could tell them apart "Thought you might be in trouble when you didn't answer our letters. We'd been planning this rescue all summer, and we weren't going to scrap our plans just because the house elf responsible apologized."

"So," back to Fred "How do you feel about going to our house for the summer?"

Harry stared at them for a minute, contemplating their offer. On the one hand, going with the twins would ensure an interesting summer. On the other hand, he'd have to put up with Ronald. But then, there was Percy as well; from what he'd heard eavesdropping on the older boys in the common room, the Gryffindor prefect had always been a stickler for the rules and dreamed of joining the Ministry. Such a person would have gathered a great deal of de facto political ideas—rules of the political arena that weren't in the books. And the Weasley family was in his book on politics as being a powerful Ancient and Noble House. Making up his mind, he said "Sure. Why not?"

Excellent!" Fred said while grinning. "George, help him with his things."

"No need," Harry said, motioning for the twins to stop. Turning, he said "Pack,", causing all of his scattered supplies to fly into his trunk neatly before closing it, much to the surprise of his two friends. He levitated it into the boot and, after gathering Hedwig and Cheshire from their various hiding places and writing a note to his relatives, took a spot in the back seat and settled in for what was likely to be a long journey as they flew off into the night.

* * *

A.N.: Well, that's it for now. The next chapter will tell of Harry's adventures in and around Ottery St. Catchpole. Hopefully it'll be out soon, as I've already put a lot of thought into it, and just need to write it down. Also, I will award 10 house points to anyone who knows the Japanese Golfer joke. Please leave a review on your way out!


	2. Weasleys EVERYWHERE

A.N.: Hello, and welcome to the second chapter of the second book! As always, I am your host: AvatarVecna! I had intended to post this chapter on Halloween, but events conspired against me. I only have two excuses: number one, I'm finally done with college application! No more essays and money grubbing websites! At least for a little while. Number two, at just over 14k words, this is my longest chapter to date, fairly close to twice as long as just about any two chapters from my first story combined, so you're getting way more than usual. As always, I own nothing you recognize as originating elsewhere, such as Harry Potter or D&D. Please leave a review: it lets me know you care.

There have been two kinds of reviews repeated in some form or another by enough people to warrant replying to them in the story. The first is in regards to the interaction between Dumbledore and Hermione's parents.

Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald, was the Hogwarts Transfiguration professor when he was younger, is now the Headmaster of Hogwarts, is the leader of the legislative branch of the magical government, and is the head of the magical U.N. He is known as the most reputable man in wizarding Britain, and possibly the world, and is a pioneer for muggle and muggleborn rights within the Wizarding World. Her parents read up on both him and Harry in their research into the magical world.

They won't be impressed too much by something Harry had no control over, so defeating Voldemort isn't winning him any points. He's a Slytherin, so that's not helping. Finally, only Hermione has been defending Harry, and he was her first friend. Her parents know her, and know she would latch onto the first friend she made, and would subsequently ignore/overlook/excuse their faults. Dumbledore didn't necessarily use any sort of charm on them: although I don't like putting it this way, who needs a magic spell when you've got that much swag?

The second issue is regarding the ages and the decision to use 11, 17, and 59. The thing is, being a prime prime (as opposed to a fifth prime, or higher) isn't the only factor. Three and seven are considered two of the most powerful magical numbers: they appear throughout mythology all over the world. 13 is viewed through a superstitious lens as well. Why weren't these numbers chosen, or even considered? Because there are other factors. These three ages, 11, 17, and 59, are three ages where the amount of magic a witch or wizard can channel increases by more than normal, and that is one theory for why. Other prime numbers have different effects magically: groups of three are tend to be successful more often than larger or smaller groups; seven is a number more commonly associated with rituals than with people. It's all very complicated, and the numbers were chosen the way they were to prevent me from creating a spreadsheet containing some excess of 200 or more criteria just to determine such a minor detail. Kids start Hogwarts at age eleven, just after receiving their first big bonus, and their last year is just after they turn 17, their second big bonus. 59 was chosen just to have three. I may go back and change that later, but I simply don't have the time to properly focus on everything I want to focus on right now.

I hope that clears everything up. On with the story!

* * *

Chapter 2: Weasleys. EVERYWHERE.

_—July 20, 1991—_

Hadrian Potter was quite tired, but wasn't willing to fall asleep; with both of the Weasley twins within arms reach, he didn't dare nod off, in case they decided to take advantage and prank him. Fortunately, they kept up a conversation that seemed to go all over the place, mostly discussing how their respective summers had gone so far—which, for the twins, at least, meant a list of pranks successfully pulled.

"...and so then, Percy comes down from his room and begins chasing us through the house, all the while wearing that bright pink tutu we found in dad's shed!" Fred choked out through his laughter, his diaphragm threatening to overwhelm him. Harry was sure that they would be seen if they dipped below the clouds, but Fred was paying more attention than he thought and made sure they didn't dip below the cloud line.

Harry frowned: something was off here. "Wait, I'm confused...what happened to the tiger-chicken, again? Did it ever find its hat? Did it disappear? Where did it go?"

The twin terrors shared a quick, worried glance, before George said "I...don't remember seeing it after it nearly ate Scabbers..."

"Maybe Ron was so angry at it, that he ate it!" Fred said, before the two of them descended into giggles once more.

Harry looked bemused. "I take it, then, that I'm not in any danger of having my head pecked like Ron's was? Or should I take to wearing a helmet?"

"Nah," George said dismissively. "We charmed so that it to return to normal in the henhouse after a few hours. Besides, it wouldn't go for you: you're too tough and stringy to properly feed a growing tiger-chicken—"

"You'd think it wouldn't need to grow after it was taller than Percy," Fred snarked, sending his twin into a startled laugh that quickly turned into a hacking cough. Harry pounded him on the back to help out.

They sat in silence for several minutes, except for the occasional twitter. After a while, Fred asked "Hey Harry? Why haven't you gotten a letter about using magic? We use potions to get away with it, but you used spells."

"Spells, yes. Wand? No so much," Harry replied, smirking at their incredulous expressions. "Only a good deal of the first year material, though; I'm already about halfway through the third year material in wand magic, and I've looked at enough combat magic to cast it successfully with regularity."

"You can do wandless magic?!" George finally cried out, turning around to face him. "And what do you mean 'only' first year material?"

"What my handsome brother means," Fred said, giving his twin an unreadable look, "Is that, from watching Bill when we were younger, we got the impression that wandless magic is difficult to the point of being nearly impossible. That you can do it at all is—"

"Let's stop the conversation, Fred: we're here," George interrupted. Sure enough, as they descended through the clouds, just ahead was the strangest house Harry had ever seen, only just visible in the rising sun: it looked as if it had once been a farmhouse, albeit a farmhouse built to withstand assault (if the metal walls of the bottom floor were anything to go by), but had since been built up until it wasn't so much a house as several small houses stacked precariously atop one another, Jenga style. More than likely, it was built and held together by magic, otherwise he was sure it would've toppled long ago. The front of the house had a fence, and there was what looked like a henhouse out to the side. Behind the house was a vast field of grain, only some of which looked like it had been cared for and picked; the rest looked to have been allowed to grow out as nature wished.

They descended towards the dirt road leading up to the house; as they landed, Fred cried out "Touchdown!" George motioned for Harry to get out, and the two of them got his trunk out of the car. Fred then carefully maneuvered it into a large shed opposite the henhouse. Emerging, he started whispering "Alright, so we'll all go upstairs quietly—"

"—and when mum calls us down to breakfast—" George continued in the same tone of voice.

"—we'll say you turned up in the night!" Fred concluded with a smile. "She said you're welcome to come anytime, so there won't be any complaints."

"That's an excellent plan," Harry said. Glancing past them, he continued "There's only one small problem with it."

Seeing his gaze, the twins turned, only to quake under the look their mother was giving them. That she was wielding an overly large rolling pin only added to the intimidating image. Inwardly, Hadrian was amused by the twin terrors of Hogwarts shaking in their boots.

Straightening, Fred said, in what he probably thought was smooth "Morning, mum! Guess who turned up in the night?" He gestured to Harry. "We thought maybe he could stay in our room—"

"Do you know how worried I was?" she whispered, her voice filled with emotion. The twins seemed to shrink from shame, but she wasn't done yet. Her tone steadily rose in volume and intensity; while it became quite sharp, it could never be described as yelling "Beds empty, no note, car gone! You could've died! You could've been seen! You could've cost your father his job! Didn't you realize what all could've gone wrong? I can't believe..." She went on and on for what seemed like hours rather than the fifteen minutes that Harry's watch told him it had been. By the time she seemed to have finished, the twins were acting (and probably felt) like a couple of slugs. Finally, she said "Now, why don't you three go wash up? Breakfast will be in a few minutes." As they made their way to the house, Harry found himself thankful for the greeting: it had distracted the twins enough to forget, however temporarily, about the wandless magic he'd done earlier.

Harry followed the twins upstairs and, after locating an unused washroom, proceeded to wash his hands. Making his way back down through the house, he took some time to observe his surroundings: you never know when such knowledge could come in handy. The Burrow appeared to be a spiral staircase leading up several floors before reaching an attic; each floor had two rooms, one for a person (or people in a couple of cases) and one washroom. Most of the doors had some sort of marker signifying who resided within; while Percy had a (likely transfigured) plaque with his name on it adorning his door, the twins' room had a plastic, muggle-made sign that said 'Insane Asylum' and nothing else. Reaching the ground floor (and noting that there was still more stairs going down) he made his way through the living room, taking note of the multitude of magical items present: there was an unplugged radio playing Celestina Warbeck on low volume; there was a clock that, much like Harry's watch, could keep track of the location of people attuned to it; there was a pair of knitting needles making a green sweater right next to a rocking chair that was rocking gently despite having no occupant. Deciding he'd have plenty of time later to marvel at the small signs of magic that filled the room, he continued following the smell of eggs and sausage.

Arriving in the kitchen, he found an anarchic mess with a table in the middle: an old-fashioned stove currently covered with pots and pans stood against the far wall, with a spice rack above it attached to the wall (presumably by magic, as there wasn't a screw in sight) and a small counter littered with breakfast-making supplies to each side of it. Next the the counter, on the perpendicular wall, was a large bookshelf with books stacked three deep, books with titles like "Charm Your Own Cheese", "Enchantment in Baking", and "1-Minute Feasts: It's Magic!" Mrs. Weasley was bustling around the kitchen, cooking a little haphazardly, throwing sausages into the largest frying pan, which immediately started to sizzle, all the while muttering under her breath: "...don't know what they were thinking...a flying car, really...halfway across the country, could've been seen..."

Soon enough, the twins returned from upstairs, only to find Harry helping their mother cook breakfast: "Now, you don't want to add too much cream to the eggs before they're scrambled, otherwise the taste of egg will get overwhelmed by it. I've found that the right amount is usually somewhere around ½ a tablespoon per egg to avoid that," he said, demonstrating with the eggs cooking on the stove. As he poured in a bit of cream, the pan sizzled and a pleasant odor filled the kitchen. "Incidentally, it also makes it turn this wonderful creamy yellow colour most people associate with egg yolks. Some people prefer it with a dash of salt, pepper, or both. Regardless, everyone is different, and it's not good to heat up salt in a dish like this besides, so it's better to just set out some salt and pepper for people to put on their own eggs, if the wish."

"Thank you, Harry dear; not many people know how to cook, especially to this level. Where did you learn?" she asked.

"Harry seemed to tense a bit, before saying "It's something I've picked up over the years."

This answer seemed to satisfy her, although she didn't show any signs of noticing his hesitation. She quickly took over the cooking, using several of the tips Harry had given her. She also added some unmarked vials to a few dishes; when he asked about them, she said they were medicinal in nature. Soon enough, the smell of breakfast was wafting through the house, and began attracting people to the smell. The twins were already in place, and received their plates with a hearty 'thank you' before they dug in, whispering conspiratorially to each other all the while.

After a few more minutes, Percy Weasley wandered downstairs, already fully dressed and fully awake. He seemed surprised at Harry's presence, but after a quick explanation from his mother, accepted it, along with a plate of food. The five of them began eating, not waiting for everyone else to arrive: according to Mrs. Weasley, they usually did, but Arthur (presumably Mr. Weasley) had recently been doing a lot more raids for the Ministry than usual, and was almost always getting home later than usual. As he was eating, Harry felt his watch give him a slight twinge; checking it, he discovered that he'd just ingested a (thankfully weak) loyalty potion connected to a few of the Weasleys. "_Medicinal indeed,"_ he thought, as he continued eating, ignoring the stinging sensation his watch inflicted with every bite.

The next person down was Ronald: he lumbered in, his face looking all pinched up. Still waking up, he accepted a plate from his mother without a word of thanks, and began eating with great gusto. After several minutes, he'd cleared his plate, and was much more awake. "That was great mum, better than usual! What'd you do different?" he exclaimed.

Mrs. Weasley smiled. "Harry was helping me earlier; I take it you enjoyed his suggestions?"

"Harry? Harry who?" Ron asked, not sure who she was talking about. In answer, she pointed back at the table with a smile. The redhead turned and, upon seeing Harry, immediately started gagging. His mother looked a bit alarmed.

"Ronald, honey, what's wrong?" she asked, her concern evident.

"He's poisoned me!" was the only answer she got, and she got it several times as he just kept saying it over and over. She looked at Harry exasperatedly; he shrugged and continued eating. Ronald continued his melodramatics for several minutes, until he noticed that no one really seemed to care. Grumbling, and shooting glares at Harry, he sat back down, and began loading a few things onto his plate, inspecting each piece of food with a critical eye, before gobbling it down anyway. "So why's he here, anyway?" the oaf said between bites.

"Don't talk with food in your mouth, Ronald," his mother reprimanded him. He shot a dirty look at Harry—what had he done?—before swallowing and saying "I mean, he's evil, and he's always had it out for me—"

"I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding," Mrs. Weasley said, pursing her lips; oddly enough, this was directed at Harry, although he gave no sign of seeing this. "Harry's seems like a nice boy."

Ronald snorted. "He's just drawing you in. Besides, what about the plan?"

Mrs. Weasley glared at him. "Ronald, just try to be nice; he's our guest and will be treated as such." Ron grunted in response. This appeared to satisfy the matriarch, who returned to her cooking once more. Harry idly wondered what the plan was; he concluded that it was related to the potions placed in his food and returned to eating, continuing to ignore his watch's warnings. Suddenly, the sound of the front door opening broke the uncomfortable silence; Percy looked up expectantly, and the twins seemed a bit startled by the sound, but that didn't stop broad grins from spreading across their faces as a thin, tall, slightly balding man walked through the doorway. Harry noticed Ron didn't react at all, preferring to continue shovelling the "poisoned" food down his throat.

Mr. Weasley slumped into the chair at the head of the table, his glasses off and his eyes closed. He was a thin man, going bald, but the little hair he had was as red as any of his children's. He was wearing long green robes, which were dusty and travel-worn; indeed, his whole countenance seemed weary. "What a night, " he mumbled, reaching for the teapot as he straightened up in his seat. "Nine raids. Nine! And old Mundungus Fletcher tried to put a hex on me when I had my back turned..." Mr. Weasley took a long gulp of tea and sighed.

"Find anything, Dad?" said Fred eagerly.

"Only a few shrinking keys and a b...b...biting kettle, " said Mr. Weasley, a yawn interrupting his sentence. "There was some pretty nasty stuff that wasn't my department, though. Mortlake was taken away for questioning about some extremely odd ferrets...but that's the Committee on Experimental Charms, thank goodness..."

"Why would anyone bother making keys shrink?" asked George.

"Just the usual Muggle-baiting, " sighed Mr. Weasley. "Sell them a key that keeps shrinking to nothing so they can never find it when they need it... Of course, it's very hard to convict anyone because no Muggle would admit their key keeps shrinking—they'll insist they just keep losing it. Bless them, they'll go to any lengths to ignore magic, even if it's staring them in the face...you wouldn't believe the things our lot have taken to enchanting—"

"Like cars, for instance?" Mrs. Weasley spoke up, wielding a long poker with a sausage on it like a sword. Mr. Weasley's eyes jerked open as he stared guiltily at his wife. "C-cars, Molly, dear?"

"Yes, Arthur," said Mrs. Weasley, her eyes flashing in anger. "Cars. Imagine a wizard buying some rusty old car and telling his wife that all he wanted to do with it was take it apart to see how it worked, when he really was enchanting it to make it fly!"

"Mr. Weasley blinked, before clearing his throat. "Well, dear, I think you'll find that he would be quite within the law to do that, even if, er, he maybe would have done better to, um, tell his wife the truth. Incidentally, there's a loophole in that law, you'll find: as long as he wasn't _intending_ to fly the car, the fact that the car _could_ fly wouldn't—"

"Arthur Weasley, you made sure there was a loophole when you wrote that law!" shouted Mrs. Weasley. "Just so you could carry on tinkering with all that Muggle rubbish in your shed! And for your information, Harry arrived this morning in the car you weren't intending to fly!"

"Harry?" said Mr. Weasley blankly. "Harry who?" He looked around, saw Harry, and jumped. "Good lord, is it Harry Potter? Very pleased to meet you, the twins have told us so much about—"

"Your sons flew that car to Harry's house and back last night." shouted Mrs. Weasley. "All the way in Surrey! What have you got to say about that, eh?"

"Did you really?" said Mr. Weasley eagerly. "Did it go all right? I was wondering how the—I...I mean, " he faltered as sparks flew from Mrs. Weasley's eyes, "that was very wrong, boys. Very wrong indeed... "

"Daddy!" a rather high voice cried out, interrupting him. Arthur was suddenly engulfed in a mass of red hair that appeared to be masquerading as a little girl. Mrs. Weasley's eyes softened at the sight of the girl, as did her overall demeanor.

The man's eyes seemed to light up as he returned the embrace. "Hello, Ginny," he said as he released her.

Ron finally looked up, a weird, mischievous light in his eyes. "Hey Ginny, look!" he pointed at Harry. "It's Harry Potter! He's going to steal your innocence!" Once again, the tactless buffoon stopped all conversation dead. Oblivious to his mother's, father's, and brother's glares, he proceeded to make mocking kissy faces at his sister, who sniffled a bit and ran from the room, her face red as a tomato. As Molly began haranguing her youngest son, accompanied by Percy, Harry asked Mr. Weasley if he could go try and defuse the situation. After receiving permission, he stood and slipped out of the room without being noticed by those Weasleys too busy. Going over to the stairs, and remembering who lived upstairs, he concluded that Ginny's room must be in the basement; acting on this deduction, he descended the stairs.

Harry walked up to the door in the basement; supposedly, this was Ginny's room. Knocking, he heard a tearful "Go away!" coming from inside. Frowning, he knocked again. "I said go away, Ron!" he heard as the door was thrown open by the room's sole occupant. Her face, a dark red hue, looked angry, and like she'd been crying. When she saw him, she turned deathly pale, before growing red again and, after being frozen in shock for a moment, slammed the door in his face. He blinked, a bit startled by her behavior. Frowning, he knocked again.

After several seconds, the door opened once more, this time much more girl peeked out, most of her body and face hidden by the door frame. "He-Hello?" she said in a squeaky voice. "Can I help you?"

"I was wondering if you were alright," Harry said. "I wasn't aware my presence would cause such a problem."

"It's not your fault; Ron was the problem, and he's always been an ars—I mean, er..." she trailed off, looking at the ground, apparently embarrassed by her outburst. "I...I don't mean to sound rude, but...why are you here?"

Harry considered the question, then said "Well, if you're asking why I'm at the Burrow, it's to visit the twins; I imagine they've mentioned the possibility of such a visit before now. If, however, you're asking why I'm knocking on your door, as I've already stated, I wanted to make sure you were alright." He looked at her. "Mind you, it did seem a rather strong reaction. Was there an explanation for that?"

She seemed hesitant, but with his guidance, began to speak: "Well...it's kind of silly..." He raised an eyebrow at her. "When I was little, mum would read me stories of...about...well, you. Stories of defeating dragons, and rescuing princesses, and saving the world. But then," she said, "you turn out to be...different from what I thought you were...You weren't the knight in shining armor, you were the enemy...or so Ron says. The twins say that you're a good friend, but a scary person, and I'm...I don't know what to think about that."

Harry appraised her, understanding his discomfort. "You say you don't know me, that I'm different from what you expected," he said finally. "Would you like to get to know me? If you're interested, we could be friends."

She stared at him, still mostly hidden by her door. Her eyes (or rather, eye, for that was all he could see) narrowed as she surveyed him, likely searching for some hint of mockery or derision. After a minute she said "Sure...we could do that." She came out of her room, opening the door just enough to allow herself to squeeze through, before she shut the door. "Hi, I'm Ginevra Weasley. but my friends call me Ginny."

He gave a small half-smile. "Hadrian Potter; my friends call me Harry." He glanced at the recently slammed door. "Any particular reason you didn't open the door any wider than that?"

Ginny went beet red. "No reason. Let's go back to the kitchen; Mum's probably done yelling at Ron by now." She began steering him away from her room, which he allowed her to do; it was probably something private. "So, er..." she said, trying to strike up conversation. "What do you think Ron will think of us being friends?"

"I'd be willing to bet he say that I Confunded you or something like that," Harry answered.

"If you're willing to bet, then 10 Sickles says he'll say you've Imperioused me," Ginny replied as they walked up the stairs.

"I doubt he'd go that far; you're on," Harry said as they entered the kitchen. Everyone was seated once more, although tall the Weasleys seemed a bit tense; Mrs. Weasley was busy at the stove once more, Mr. Weasley and Percy were having a discussion over the Daily Prophet in hushed tones, the twins were trading amused glances as the dug into their food, while Ron was red in the face and stabbing at his eggs maliciously while he muttered under his breath.

Mr. Weasley looked up as they entered the room together, smiling all the way. "Are you feeling better, Ginny?"

She smiled "Yes Daddy, I feel much better now. We talked about...stuff, and are going to try to be friends."

Ronald's eyes widened as her heard this. Leaping up, he pointed at Harry and cried "He's put her under the Imperius Curse!", once again demonstrating his ability to stop all conversation in the viscinity.

Harry sighed and turned to Ginny, taking out his money pouch and removing 10 Sickles before handing them to the grinning girl. Turning back to the Weasleys as a whole, he said "I've only myself to blame: I bet against your ability to leap to conclusions, Ronald, and because of this I'm now out of 10 Sickles." The twins snickered at this, while Mr. Weasley gave a chuckle. Ron just stared at him with a stupid look on his face, while Mrs. Weasley was looking between Harry and Ginny with a look of triumph. It was brief, though, and the next moment, she was bustling around the kitchen once more. The two new friends walked over to where they'd sat before and Harry pulled out Ginny's chair for her. She sat down with a nearly silent "Thanks" and, after seating himself, they continued eating breakfast. They quickly got involved in conversations: Ginny with the twins (all concerning pranks, most likely).

Harry mostly listened to Percy and talk about the Ministry: Arthur worked in the DMLE in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, the purpose of which was to prevent muggle items from being enchanted with the intent of using them inappropriately, or to keep magical items similar to muggle items from being used by muggles. They mostly dealt with things like keys charmed to turn invisible, or clocks that called out the time, although recently they had been more involved in raiding various suspicious locations in pursuit of Dark magic items. Apparently, more dangerous items, such as brooms charmed to stab their owners while they slept, were making their way into the hands of muggles, causing deaths without non-magical explanations.

Arthur, it seemed, was a bit angry with this, and was currently proposing a law that would severely regulate trade between the magical and non-magical world that would also allow Aurors to search any premises they believed held prohibited items if they had sufficient suspicion. This wasn't making Mr. Weasley very popular among the members of the Wizengamot, a good number of whom, Harry suspected, would be in trouble were this law to be passed. Percy was asking occasional questions about how the Ministry worked, about the processes and bureaucracy, what most people found rather dull, Percy found intriguing, and Harry also found himself listening in, eager to gain some insight into the workings of the government—although, for far less ethical reasons than Percy did.

"...which is why the oldest houses have so much power," Mr. Weasley finished.

"But how is the Head of House determined?" Percy asked, persisting with his current line of questioning.

"Well," Mr. Weasley began, "It mostly depends on the House in question, although it's almost always the oldest male of the family. In a patriarchal House, the oldest male is the Head of House, and in a matriarchal House, the oldest female is the Head of House. Right now, though, many families are in rather unique situations: between the Wizarding World War against Grindlewald and the war against You-Know-Who, many families were killed off, either for refusing to follow him, for opposing him, or just to keep their family from wielding their power in the Ministry, or on the Wizengamot. As such, many of the Heads of House to be are currently children, and the rules regarding children are rather complicated.

If there is already a Head of House, the child is a Scion; they will be Head of House when their current Head of House reaches 100 years of age; this is because of the usually diminished mental abilities of those who've grown ancient. Dumbledore is an exception to the reason, but not the rule, and ceased to be the Head of House Dumbledore years ago. His younger brother Aberforth received the title at the time, although he too lost it a few years later. When the House has members but no Head, the person...child, rather...who will one day be Head becomes Heir to the House on their fifteenth birthday, although it's not official until the journey to Gringotts to get things set."

"An Heir cannot take their seat in the Wizengamot, just like a Scion, so their closest relative by blood, excluding those over 100, take their place, acting as Regent, such as is the case of the Bones and Longbottom Houses. A House Heir has a few financial responsibilities over the House, and can ignore some laws of restricted spellcasting to defend themselves, so the position isn't all bad. Upon reaching the age of majority, 17, the Heir will return to Gringotts once more to become the Head of House."

"Then you have that case where a child is the only member of their family left: freak accidents happen, or sometimes failed familicide. If the child would one day be Head of House, their magical guardian or, if they are too old, the Head Warlock, who is exempt from the age rule. Upon reaching eleven years of age they can assume a unique position: they will be the Head of their House, but their magical guardian will continue acting in their place on the Wizengamot until they turn thirteen, at which point they are expected to take over; this is not necessary, and it's entirely legal to have the magical guardian continue to act in their stead until they reach the age of majority."

Percy seemed a bit miffed. "A thirteen year old child, having a hand in legislation? This actually happens?" he asked incredulously.

"Rarely, I imagine," Harry spoke up, informing the two of their not so quiet conversation's audience. "Although it will be happening a little over a year from now," he added with a small chuckle.

"Ah," Mr. Weasley said spying Harry's House ring. "Speaking from experience, Lord Potter?" A nodded response informed Percy of the foot in his mouth.

Percy cleared his throat. "So...that's how they choose the Lord, is it?"

"Or the Lady, if it's a matriarchal house," Mr. Weasley replied, after swallowing some bacon. Percy nodded as if the addition was obvious.

"How common is that?" Harry asked. The two of them looked at him.

Mr. Weasley said "Well, most houses are patriarchal and have been so since their foundation; however, there are a number of families that are matriarchal in nature. As for how common they are...the easiest way to determine that is looking at how the two compare. Now, in most magical communities, whether a magical town like Hogsmeade, a mixed town magical-muggle town like Big Hangleton, or those cities where magical families hide amongst the muggles, the ratio is usually five or six patriarchal families for every matriarchal family, a clear majority. However, then you have a couple of places that go the other way, like Ottery St. Catchpole," he said, which got a raised eyebrow from Harry: that was the town just down the road from the Burrow.

"The town is heavily magical, although there is a muggle majority; perhaps one in every 3 families is magical. Now, the town was originally founded by a coven of three powerful witches: Vanessa Bones, Perdita Weasley, and Beatrice Lovegood." He saw Harry's expression. "Don't look too surprised. Now, in those days, every family had certain spells that only they knew, and the most powerful member of the house would guard the spells. Some families were completely wiped out by those seeking their spells; it was especially bad if the person protecting them was a women, since women were perceived as inferior to men. As I mentioned before, three powerful witches, each the guardian of their families' grimoire, formed a friendship. When their families were all but wiped out by others, they banded together to increase their odds of survival."

"The Weasley family was a Scottish warrior clan, and their spells reflected their passion on the battlefield; elementals were common in the family. The Bones' were necromancers, as the name implies, and were dedicated to justice and vengeance. They were, incidentally, the hardest to convince to go on the defensive. Despite their skill and knowledge about the animation of the dead, however, the Bones family was not the darkest of the three: that was the Lovegoods. No one was quite sure where their strengths lay, but in more recent times it's been concluded that their powers are connected to the Mind Magicks. Beatrice was credited with driving most foes insane with her family magic while frustrating her dueling opponents with her anarchic fighting style."

"After spending quite some time on the run, the three found a valley that rested above a lay line. Deciding that such a resource was worth ending their retreat, they settled down. Each built a fortress somewhere in the valley; while there may be other factors, it's known that the three buildings are the points of an equilateral triangle a kilometer to a side. Soon enough, their enemies arrived and tried to breach these homes; they were rebuffed most violently, and only a few attacks came later, before the three were left alone. After several years of developing their spells and power, they ventured out into the world, inviting other women like themselves, who guarded the grimoire, to come live in a town protected by the coven. The three gained a massive following of some three dozen young women whose families had been killed, and the town of Ottery St. Catchpole came into being. More families followed later as the town's success became apparent."

"The three witches acted as liege lord to the others, protecting them when forces threatened them, in return for labor. Over time, the town grew more and more informal, until everybody was friends. This took several generations, and by now the town was quite large, at least for the time period. Anyway, by this time, there were some 50 matriarchal families living in the town. Around this time, the magical world was beginning to realize how much the muggles had advanced and were looking for ways to hide from them. The town began disguising itself, learning how to act like muggles, before they began admitting non-magical people into the town. To this day, the town is mostly matriarchal families; even on the muggle side, the houses are ruled by the mothers or grandmothers. There are only a couple of patriarchal families in the town, the Diggorys and the Prewetts being the obvious two," the man added. "Ultimately, about one in three magical families are matriarchal, although the general rule is that the oder and more prestigious a house, the more likely it is to be patriarchal; ther's exceptions, though."

Harry thought about this as he chewed. Swallowing, he asked "What does that mean for your family? I was under the impression that Molly took your name, or is this not the case?"

Mr. Weasley said "That has to do with a different rule. When a patriarchal family only has female children, the line passes down to their daughters' sons, although she cannot take their place. Normally that would be taken up by her husband. Molly can't be Head of House Prewett, since she's female, but she can pass it down; for a while, I was acting as Head of House Prewett, until Bill reached 15, at which point he took over as Heir, becoming Lord Prewett at 17. He's out of the country mostly, but he comes for Wizengamot meetings, which occur often enough." Here, he paused to eat a bit before continuing. "On the other side of the same coin, I'm the only remaining male child of the Weasley clan, and can't act as its Head of House. Currently, Molly handles it, but when Ginny reaches 15, she will become Heir Weasley, and will be Lady Weasley when she turns 17."

Harry continued eating, digesting the information he'd just received. As the meal wound down, the Weasleys scattered to their various hiding places around the Burrow; eventually, it was only him and Mrs. Weasley, who was cleaning up from breakfast. After a quick discussion, it was decided that he'd bunk with the twins. Making plans to ward his bed, he left the kitchen and headed upstairs, looking to complete his previously interrupted sleep.

—_July 28, 1991—_

Hadrian Potter had had enough. It had been a single week since he arrived at the Burrow, and things had been going very well: Ronald was still being a git, but he was like that to everyone, it seemed. Both Percy and Mr. Weasley were veritable fonts of information on the workings of the Ministry, and he listened to their conversations as often as possible. His friendship with Ginny had blossomed quite well, and the two of them spent more time together than with anyone else. Ginny was very nice, once you got to know her: she had a wicked sense of humor, and a taste for adventure. The two of them had gone exploring in the woods across the pond a couple of times, and always found something interesting to do.

They'd talked about Hogwarts often, and Ginny was quite excited to be going: apparently, she was turning eleven in just a few months, which was just in time to not be bumped down as per the Hogwarts incoming student guidelines. The twins had been fun enough to hang around, and he had played small games of Quidditch with them; when Ginny asked to join, she was rebuffed until Harry pointed out that it would be easier to play with two teams of two. When the twins argued that they could get Ron to play, Harry asked them whose team he'd be on; the twins, not wanting to be split up, and fearing for their brother's life if he had to work with Harry, agreed to let Ginny play. Ron, of course, had pitched a fit as soon as he found out, but was dragged off by Mrs. Weasley for "insulting their guest". Harry once again suspected foul play when he saw the look in her eyes as she saw him and Ginny flying together. As the week had progressed, Mrs. Weasley had been asking him questions about celebrating his upcoming birthday. A basic guest list had been agreed on, and although the woman seemed to disapprove over a few of his choices in friends, she didn't say anything.

He'd been exchanging letters with Hermione and Draco constantly: their lives were still going on. Hermione was still upset that her parents wouldn't let him visit, but she still looked forward to seeing him when school started up again. Harry had told her of several of the magical experiments he'd been doing this summer, and she had responded with a number of ideas of her own, including some speculations or improvements regarding Harry's experiments that he hadn't considered. Draco was keeping up a constant run of the political moves he overheard, which the two of them discussed in great detail, so as to gain some insight into the political game his father had mastered. But none of that was the problem.

The twins had been finishing up self-testing a number of their prank ideas right before he'd arrived at the Burrow, and were now in the beta-testing phase, which made him into a target. What was worse, as he shared a room with them, he was the main target, and he was getting tired of the enormous variety of prank charms they him cast on him the past few days. Most of them were entirely harmless, and were easily _Finite_'d, but but there were enough that were either dangerous in nature or difficult to remove; he'd only managed to get his hair back to normal just last night, and this morning it had been re-glittered. Tonight would change that, though, he thought as he poured out a vial's worth of the potion he'd purchased the year before. Staring at the puke coloured sludge, he grinned evilly.

The twins awoke early, as was the norm at the Burrow: if the sun was up before you were, you were wasting time. The two conspirators shared a silent look, before sneaking over to their roommate's bed to test out some new pranks on the hapless Slytherin. Who wasn't in his bed. The frowned, before shrugging it off: they'd get him later. As was usual, Fred went to wash up while George planned for the day; they'd switch in a few minutes, then compare notes at breakfast. Unfortunately for the twins, waking up was the only thing that was going to go normal this morning.

As Fred closed the door, he heard a soft click, but dismissed the sound. He spent several minutes showering, using the soap that the two of them shared before leaving. George took his place in the loo, and soon enough both twins were showered and dressed. Ready to leave, George left the room—or rather, tried to leave: the door was locked. What's more, as soon as he touched the handle, his hand was stuck grasping it. Cursing, as his wand was out of reach, he called out for his brother's assistance. Fred arrived and tried to open the door; he too failed, and he too was stuck to the door handle. After several minutes, they got the idea to separate the door from its hinges, only to now be dragging the door along with them. Finally, they used several well-placed cutting curses to reduce the carried piece to only the handle, which resisted every attempt to vanish it or _Finite_ the enchantment. They sighed in relief, believing the worst to be over, before making their way down the stairs, still attached at the hand.

The reached the bottom rather quickly, as about halfway down the long staircase, the stairs turned into a slide beneath their feet, leaving a tangled pile of limbs at the bottom of the stairs. Getting up, and wincing from the bruises,they slowly made their way into the kitchen, where their mother was busying herself making breakfast, while Harry sat at the table, a plate of food in front of him; he was busy reading, and didn't notice their entry. They sat down at their usual place, only to find a plate of food waiting for each of them. They moved to sit down, only to find that they were on the wrong side of each other to sit where they normally did. Shrugging, they switched places and began eating one handed.

As they dug into their food, they perked up: it tasted better than normal, and they complemented their mum on her cooking ability: "Wow," Fred exclaimed. "These tastes great, Mum! What'd you add, cinnamon? Nutmeg?"

"Oh, you'd have to ask Harry," Mrs. Weasley replied as she moved about the kitchen. "I found him in here earlier, said he'd gotten up early to cook. Told him he didn't need to and took over where he'd left off. I think he made five or six 'cakes by the time I arrived though," she finished, turning towards the table to put down a bowl of scrambled eggs. She frowned when she noticed them holding a door handle. "What've you two done now?" she asked brusquely.

It was about that time that the twins' hair transformed into matching technicolor afros, each one emblazoned with a black letter: F for Fred, and G for George. The three of them seemed to freeze; Molly had been ready to yell at them to quit fooling around, but had lost her color at the sight of their new hairstyles. The twins, meanwhile, were stunned: this was their prank! They'd invented this! Sure, it was different from their original final product, but still! Knowing that it had to be ingested, they glared at Harry, who looked up from his book and snickered at their new looks, his eyes sparkling. He snarked "Nice 'do, you two, but you should really give those wigs back to the clowns you stole them from. If this is the best you can come up with, you're losing your touch."

"What did you do?" Fred asked, as he tugged at the immovable ball of hair.

"What do you mean, what did _he_ do?!" Molly began screeching, causing Harry to wince a bit at the sudden increase in volume, though this went unnoticed.

"It has to be eaten, mum; all we've had are pancakes," George explained. The three of them looked at Harry, who thought for a second, then stole a bite of Fred's pancakes. As he chewed and swallowed, they waited for his hair to change. When nothing happened, their mother turned towards them with a new fury.

"Not only are you disrupting breakfast with your antics, but you're trying to blame poor Harry?!" Ignoring her sons' protests, she took each one of them by the ear and dragged them out of the kitchen. Harry smiled, though no one could see him. As the day went on, the twins grew more and more paranoid—and with good reason, as it seemed there was another prank waiting around every corner. From some sort of itching charm on the cookie jar lid, to the charm that covered them from head to toe in chicken feathers, each prank was pulled off masterfully; despite this, Harry hadn't yet been caught. A couple of times, the thought they'd got him, but every time they tried to blame him, Percy was called as an alibi; he insisted that he'd been talking politics and academia with Harry for most of the day. After that, they'd be pulled away by the ear by their mum, who would set them chores as punishment.

This time, though, they had him: they'd found him sneaking around, pointing his wand at several objects in the living room. Fred had cast their special prank Sticking Spell to keep him from leaving the room, then had gone to get Mrs. Weasley.

"Mum!" Fred cried out as he rushed into the yard. "We've got him this time!"

"Caught him red-handed!" George added as the came to a halt.

Mrs. Weasley scowled. "Boys, really! I don't have time for this. Why do you insist on dragging this out?"

"But we really got him this time," George pleaded with the matriarch. She huffed. She was about to lay into them once more when a shriek pierced the air.

"FRED! GEORGE!...MUM!" The voice was unmistakably Ginny's.

The three of them raced back to the Burrow. As they did, Fred said "One of his traps must have caught her!" He received no response but a glare from his mother. They arrived at the living room, where the shouts were emanating from, only to find Ginny pacing the room, cursing under her breath whenever she reached the edge of the room, as if she was unable to move beyond its edges.

She looked up when they entered the room, glaring at her older brothers. She crossed the room and began smacking them about, yelling about how they trapped her in the living room with their stupid prank spell. They tried to protest, but Molly just yelled at them for a while before finally just sending them to their room. When they arrived there, they found Harry sitting on his makeshift cot reading a book. Without looking up, he asked "Truce, then?"

The twins glanced at each other before saying "Truce," together.

"Excellent," Harry said, closing his book. "I will be going now: lots to do today." Leaving the room, he descended the stairs until he reached the ground floor, where Mrs. Weasley had finally freed Ginny from the living room. As the Weasley matron walked off, promising punishment for the twins under her breath, Harry said "It would appear that the plan has succeeded."

The annoyed look on Ginny's face disappeared, replaced with a smirk. "The agreed to a truce, did they? And what's my protection?"

"Well," Hadrian said, "After what they did today, your mother will have their heads over the fireplace if they prank you again." They shared a laugh before he said "It's like I said: sometimes, direct measures just don't cut it. Sometimes, you have to play dirty..."

"...and using Polyjuice potion to have two Harry Potters running around is just one way of stacking the deck in our favor," Ginny finished with a chuckle. "So, now that my brothers have been put in their places, what do you want to do?" she asked.

Harry pondered for a moment. "What do you say to exploring the woods some more, near the northern edge?" Ginny seemed to hesitate before agreeing. After a quick detour to the backyard to tell Mrs. Weasley where they were going, they headed off down the now-familiar path. Within an hour, they were deep in the forest, deeper than they'd been before-well, than Harry had been; Ginny said she used to come this way fairly often. Ginny was starting the conversation where she usually did: telling him about her childhood adventures, either those that happened in the forest, at the Burrow, or in the town near their house. Harry would listen, until he heard a point interesting enough to question her about, which inevitably was steered towards a conversation about understanding how people think.

"Unfortunately, people have a tendency to ignore things that are perfectly obvious simply because the conspicuous thing in question challenges their beliefs," Harry said as he climbed over a small boulder. "You see it everywhere in the wizarding world. Did you know that all magical students' test scores become public record when they turn 17? Anyone can go look if they wanted to."

"So you could track someone's academic process, maybe guess what profession they were aiming for?" Ginny asked.

"It's better than that: you can track demographics," he replied. Hopping over a small stream, he continued "I researched the students who were seventh years last year at Hogwarts to see how they did. I found that one group of students starts out solid on theory, but gradually declined in practical skill, while another group starts out weak in both but skyrocketed in their progress. Can you guess what the groups were?"

She thought for a moment. "Ravenclaws and Gryffindors?"

He smirked. "No, it's not related to house; the first group was purebloods, and the second was muggleborns. Growing up around magic, the purebloods understood the basic theories behind magic, but had little practical power, since most parents are quite strict about children using magic. Muggleborns, on the other hand, know nothing of the Wizarding world; it only takes them a few years to catch up, though, and then they generally become more knowledgeable than the most attentive pureblood."

"Interesting, but how is this what we were talking about before?" Ginny asked.

"Well," Harry said, "Once again, this is public record. It's been analyzed by several members of the Ministry who were looking for demographic curves they could take advantage of. Assuming that this wasn't an isolated event, it should be painfully obvious how much truth there is to the belief of blood purity. There's simply too much evidence to disprove it, and still people try to deny it, ignoring what's right in front of them for their own sake."

"Yes, but they've got to ignore it," Ginny said. "It's the basis of the government. The Houses have been battling for control for centuries. The one thing they agree on is that muggleborns can't be allowed to take part in the government. They'd want to change everything, and quickly. While the government is corrupt, and the technology is a bit out of date—" Harry snorted, "—a complete overhaul of the government would only result in a massive crash within the month. The Ministry isn't designed to withstand such change so quickly without consequence. No government is."

"It's rather sad, but true," Harry remarked. "Too much change will only leave chaos in its wake, no matter how well intentioned. There are signs throughout history, if you know where to look," he finished as he carefully walked down the steep walls of a small gully.

"This wouldn't have anything to do with that...thing you told me about, would it?" Ginny asked curiously. "You know...people saying all magic is evil, and saying everyone who isn't one of them is worthless, and setting down a code of morals that they themselves don't follow. What was it called again? Reli-"

"What is that?" Harry interrupted her. Standing on the hill ahead of them was a four story tower. The stonework appeared quite solid; although the tower appeared to be built in the same lopsided way the burrow was, it was stable enough and didn't even budge in the huge gust of wind that suddenly swept over them. It looked like a castle chess piece; the only imperfection was that the top floor had a huge hole in the side, as if some great beast had taken a bit out of it...or an explosion. There was a short stone wall surrounding the tower and the area around its base, about 20 m from it, coming up almost to his waist. In the middle, a rickety-looking wooden gate rested, creaking in the breeze blowing through.

Ginny looked pensive. "That's just Luna's house. She's...a bit odd. Well, she's always been a bit odd, but..."

"But..." Harry prodded her on.

"Well...her mom, she worked as a spell inventor, and did all kinds of magical experiments. Her and her dad came home one day, and the top floor was like that." She gestured to the hole. "They never found her, and the goblins confirmed that the ring marking her as Head of House Lovegood had reappeared in their vault. Her father seemed to break down, but Luna...she says she doesn't worry about her mother, and I haven't exactly seen her mourning. It's just..." she looked a bit worried. "I went by a few days later, to try and comfort her. Well, she didn't seem very teary, although her father was passed out on the table. I asked her how she was doing,you know, how she was holding up after her mother's death. She looked at me all weird and said...she said that her mother wasn't dead."

"Oh?" Harry asked. "Has she received word from her mother?"

"I don't know," Ginny said frustratedly. "It's just...it's difficult to prove someone's dead. Normally, the ring appearing in the vault would only happen if she was dead, but according to the Ministry, her magic is still registering her as alive. It caused this whole big mess, and finally the Minister asked the Unspeakables to try and find something out. They confirmed that she was dead."

"But Luna still insists, doesn't she?" Harry stated.

"Yes!" Ginny cried out. "It's...it's..." she sighed. "It's just very weird She acts like her mother just stepped out to go get some groceries; she acts as if she expects her mother to return. And she's always going on about creatures that don't exist! Wrackspurts and Nargles and Crumple-horned Snorkacks—"

"Nargles?" Harry asked suddenly. "What has she said about them?"

Ginny stared at him exasperatedly. "Don't tell you me you believe in them too?"

"The other two...I have no idea," Harry said. He gave out a small pulse with his magic. "But as for Nargles—" Suddenly, Cheshire appeared, his signature face-splitting grin in place; Ginny gave a small shriek at his sudden entrance. "—I happen to have significant proof as to their existence. Now, what do you say to giving Luna a visit?" he asked as Cheshire curled around his neck and shoulders, getting comfortable before fading away once more. Ginny nodded mutely, a little shocked at the multi-colored cat-like creature.

The two (three?) of them headed towards the tower; as they crossed the gate, Harry felt the magic in the air shift, as if they'd walked into some wards. Ginny didn't seem to have noticed, and nothing happened to them, so he paid it no mind. Walking up to the house, they saw that the door had a large, perfectly circular mirror on it at eye level; Hadrian noticed that the door faced due south, according to his watch's compass. Ginny walked up to it and tried to open the door, only to find it locked. Sighing in exasperation, she knocked a few times before waiting, while Harry hung back a bit. Nothing happened. So they waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Ginny knocked again, louder this time, but still no one came. Finally, she started hammering on the door, yelling "LUNA! ARE YOU IN THERE?!"

"No," came a reply from behind them.

Ginny jumped, while Harry gave a start; while usually quite alert, he couldn't quite catch the sound of the gate opening over Ginny's hammering. They turned around to see a petite young lady with sleek platinum-blonde hair descending halfway down her back. She was at least a head shorter than he was, her skin was quite pale, without a freckle in sight, and her eyes were the palest shade of blue he'd ever seen. She was wearing a bright yellow sundress and red rubber rain boots, which looked quite wet despite there not being a cloud in the sky. Around her neck was a makeshift necklace constructed with string and bottlecaps, which seemed to be slightly glowing with magic when Harry scanned her. In her hand was a small net containing several guppy-like fish that were squirming about. Their struggles were slowing down, as if they were just starting to notice the distinct lack of water in their current environment, but the blonde paid them no mind as she continued to stare, sometimes focusing on them, and sometimes staring off into space as if focusing on something just behind him; it was rather unnerving.

"Luna!" Ginny said nervously. "How are you?"

"...Quite well, Ginevra," Luna replied. "I don't recall asking you to come or you saying something about a visit or..." she drifted off for a moment as they stared at her awkwardly. "...playdate, so you can imagine my surprise to find you trying to break down my front door," she finished, smiling serenely.

Ginny blushed a bit, muttering "We were looking for you."

"But why were you looking for me in there?" the blonde girl asked, confused. "I was out here."

Ginny looked to be getting annoyed, so Harry said "Perhaps you were, but we weren't aware of that. Now that we know where you are, can we talk to you? Ginny was telling me about some of the creatures you talk about, and I had some questions about one in particular."

Luna's expression briefly faltered as she heard this. "You do, do you?" she asked.

"Yes, I do," Harry said. "What do you know about Nargles? I confess that I find myself rather ignorant, and the information is relevant enough to warrant questioning?"

She stared at him, or rather, past him, as if someone was talking to her and she was paying attention solely to them. After a minute she said in a rather far-off voice "Well, Nargles are rarely encountered in this world: the most common encounter was with an adult in the wild. Keeping with their rather chaotic nature, they can't decide if they belong here or there, and change their minds often, making them difficult to locate. The are omniivores technically, but prefer meat, much like many humans do; as a result, their hunting skills are well-honed."

"The most curious thing about them is how they age: a newborn Nargle can remain in their infant form for decades, or they can change within hours of their birth. It is more often that it takes a few years for them to transform into their final form. Regardless of when they change, it will be a transformation that takes them straight from infancy to adulthood within the span of a few seconds. It has been observed by those few researchers that spot them with regularity that a transformation often occurs during a moment of danger, whether the threat is to the Nargle itself or to one they care for exceptionally."

"As with many things about them, a Nargle's appearance is mostly dependent on its age: the young ones look like cats with either purple or blue fur...except when it's pink, but that's not very common. Other than their odd coloring, they are virtually indistinguishable from Kneazles, especially when they display their above-average intellect." Harry noticed Ginny's eyes widen at this description, before continuing to listen to Luna's lecture. "The elder ones are like large panthers of similar coloring, although they are much skinnier that would be expected from a beast that size. Unlike the infants, the adults have an extra pair of legs that helps to stabilize them, as well as two squid-like tentacles growing out of their shoulder blades that can be used to deliver a mild paralytic poison; while intended to be used to slow the reflexes of larger prey animals so as to make them easier to catch, in large enough doses, it can be quite fatal, killing the recipient over a matter of hours and leaving virtually no physical mark on the victim. When you consider how rare it is to encounter a Nargle, you can deduce how many people know how to make the cure."

"The adults can be quite dangerous, especially for those inexperienced in facing their unique style of combat. A Nargle will seem to phase out of reality in a random pattern, a defense mechanism that allows them to dodge projectiles, weapons, and spells, although it's not infallible. Infants, unfortunately, haven't quite mastered this skill, and never use it when fighting. This ability is not one that was always possessed by Nargles: originally, they were only capable of manipulating light to appear where they weren't, but crossbreeding with Blinkees allowed them to disappear from here to there at will. This breeding is also credited with the significant change in their basic thought processes that took them from being cold, logical, and methodical, to their current anarchic, flighty disposition. The adult's claws are razor-sharp and slightly harder than steel, whereas an infant's are comparable to that of house cats or Kneazles. They are excessively violent and loyal, the latter trait yet another result of the previously mentioned breeding." The girl paused, cocking her head to one side. "I'm was wondering: are you asking out of curiosity's sake, or were you asking because of the Nargle currently perched on your shoulder?"

Harry and Ginny both jumped, startled at her question. "The latter, actually," Harry said slowly. "You can see him?"

"Oh yes," Luna replied. "He's quite lovely; where did you find him?"

"He was stuck in some cage inside the pet shop in Diagon Alley. I was interested, and felt the beginnings of a familiar bond between us, so I purchased him and we've been...friends since."

The little blonde girl gave a small chuckle. "If you think he was trapped in that cage, you still have a lot to learn."

"Clearly," he agreed. "Before we continue this rather interesting conversation, however, I believe custom calls for introductions," Harry said with a small smile. "From context, I can presume that you are Luna Lovegood?" The girl in question nodded serenely. "I suppose that you already know who Ginny is—" the girl in question was muttering death threats under her breath at the both of them, "—and I am Hadrian Potter, although my friends call me Harry."

"Delighted to meet you, Lord Potter," Luna said as she gave a small curtsy. Harry returned with a slight bow, although he wondered how she knew. Perhaps she was more politically aware than most her age?

"Perhaps we should go inside?" Harry asked. "I imagine you didn't catch those...fish just to leave them in the net."

"Schadenfreude by fish was not my goal, no," she replied, walking past them as she opened the door, which was no longer locked. Inside the door was a kitchen/dining room combination that seemed much larger than the outer dimensions had suggested. What they'd assumed was a mirror on the front door was also a window from the inside, with another window on the opposite wall; perpendicular to those two windows were two more windows, these facing east and west. Like the tower, it was circular in architecture; in the very middle was a large table that could easily seat a dozen people. Two spots had been cleared, and were quite spotless; the rest of the table was covered in newspapers, magical toys, dirty dishes, and clothes. There was a staircase leading upwards attached to the right wall. Opposite of the door were three giant cupboards, including one of which seemed to be leaking cold air, and another that seemed to be completely frozen over. Various ancient-looking kitchen appliances and countertops lined the wall to the left. The floor, much like the table was littered with various household minutiae.

Luna made her way across the hazardous room, walking around the scattered debris, and occasionally fiddling with an item on the table, like the teapot that was trying to dance and failing miserably; she briefly scolded it, before moving on. Finally reaching the frozen over cupboard, she began humming 'Jack Frost'; the door swung open, the blast of freezing cold air that escaped causing the hair on the back of Harry's neck to stand up. Tossing in the net full of fish, she thanked the door for opening, before making her way back across the room. The door swung shut with a loud _**BANG**_ just as Luna began chiding the teapot once more, this time for trying to boil bread into toast. Tossing the soggy bread into a drawer under one of the counters, she meandered her way back over to Harry and Ginny, holding the rambunctious teapot.

"Would you two like some tea? It might keep this little troublemaker—" here, she patted the teapot "—from making any more mischief. He so loves to be helpful, but he forgets sometimes that he's only a teapot." The little thing began huffing and puffing, billowing steam out of its spout in a manner that made Harry think—briefly—that the thing felt angry, or perhaps indignant, about that last part. "Oh hush," she said, addressing it, "It's true, and besides, I couldn't ask for a better teapot." She looked up at them expectantly.

"Yes please. You have black tea leaves, of course?" Harry asked. Luna nodded before releasing the teapot; it floated over to the old gas stove, which lit, as if in response. Luna gestured for them to take a seat while she prepared the tea-or rather, while she fetched the ingredients; the teapot did most of the work on its own. While it busied itself making the tea, Luna returned to the table, clearing herself a place to sit as well as a place for the milk, sugar, and honey to sit.

"So, er..." Ginny said, looking around the house, "What happened around here? It didn't used to be so..."

"Messy?" Luna supplied. "Yes, well, as you know, Ginevra, I received my Hogwarts letter last year sometime in October; Ministry law prohibits underage magic, but won't count it against you until you receive your letter. Their detection methods are crude, though, and can't catch wandless magic, so enchanting is still available, although quite difficult. As Daddy's been inconsolable for quite some time, he hasn't been up to keeping the tower clean—" a slightly weary look crossed her face, before she continued "—but I've managed alright."

"Where is your father right now?" Harry asked.

"Oh, who knows?" she said airily. "He might be working in his office in Diagon Alley—he owns the Quibbler, you know—or he might be off searching the wilderness for Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. He just disappears from time to time. I'm sure he'll be fine." Just then, the teapot started making a high-pitched whistling sound. Luna excused herself and fetched the shrill noise-maker. As she poured the tea for the three of them, she said "Anyway, he's been a bit out of it for a few years now; he's been quite wrapped up in his work ever since mum—"

"Died," Ginny interjected, as she poured a bit of milk into her cup.

"Left," Luna corrected her, not shaken in the slightest by the comment. Harry continued preparing his tea, content to watch the back and forth.

"Then you expect her to return?" Ginny shot back.

"Someday, perhaps," Luna said, shrugging. Taking a small sip of her own pure tea. "Although I doubt it. Still, it could happen."

"Sounds like dead to me," Ginny muttered.

"Ladies, please," Harry said, putting his cup down. "Let's not get caught up on the little details. Let's change the subject before you start something drastic." Ginny flashed him a grateful look, while Luna raised an eyebrow at him with a small smile. "Luna, where did you learn so much about Nargles?" he asked.

The blonde's eyes lit up as she launched into the tale of her ancestors; Harry allowed himself to be immersed in the web of stories she wove. Since the dawn of time, Lovegoods had been explorers and researchers specializing in creature knowledge. If there was something you wanted to know about a particular creature, chances were there was a book about it written by a Lovegood. Unfortunately for the world, they were a rather secretive bunch, and tended to either keep their work from the eyes of others, or would bog down the information in a maze of half-truths, assumption, and metaphors, almost never using clear terms to discuss such creatures. What was more, they were well-versed in magic related to travel, and had supposedly been to places most people would say were impossible, or didn't exist.

Harry wasn't too sure about such things himself, but continued listening to the blonde girl go on about worlds discovered and plundered-although she never went into detail, he noticed. Cheshire had revealed himself after an hour or so had passed, to the little blonde's delight; she had insisted on holding him, although Harry was surprised when he consented, as the grinning devil rarely cooperated with people, even Harry, who had a familiar bond with him. Ginny loosened up after a while and began joking around with them, slipping wry comments into Luna's ongoing dialogue, and Harry just sat and listened, soaking up the information and storing it away for later, in case anything important was hidden in Luna's words.

Luna had wrapped up her tales with a story of a couple of more recent members of the Lovegood clan who had written carefully worded journals that had actually been published, although the magical world didn't know of them. Despite them being released in the muggle world, they were viewed as fantasy books rather than the nonfiction that they were. He asked for their titles, or the author's names, but she only said that her "several greats-grandfathers Charlie and Phil" had been quite descriptive of the worlds and creatures they had individually discovered.

As the day went on, and the sun began to appear in the westward facing window, Harry finally took notice of the time. He spoke up: "Luna, as much as I'd like to stay and continue listening, we should probably be getting back to the Burrow, before Mrs. Weasley gets too worried."

"Yes, that would be most..." Luna trailed off, staring at Harry—or rather, in the direction of him. It was rather unnerving, as she seemed to be looking straight through him. After several seconds of this, she spoke; it was her voice, but the words seemed to be coming from very far away, and were spoken as if they were lyrics to a tuneless song.

"_Clouds gather; the Darkness Returning_

_And evil stirs in halls of learning_

_The ancient games begin anew_

_As ancient wisdom's words ring true._

_These be the signs of fate foreboding._

_Dismissed by all, their faith eroding._

_The path of darkness, to Death, doth lead_

_And Magicks end by normal means._

_But radiant Light plans for demise,_

_With Dark Lord hiding in disguise._

_Only the Chosen, three by three,_

_can bring our worlds to harmony."_

"_First strikes Lightning, clear as day;_

_Less so his path: his soul dark gray._

_Rejecting offers of shadow's crown;_

_A Fae Queen's hand is, too, turned down._

_Second is he whose life he stole;_

_The one who is many, all parts of a whole._

_In fleeing Death, his soul he sold;_

_Undeath, his freedom from Death's grip cold._

_Third is master of all surveyed._

_Enacting plans and traps well-laid._

_Incessantly buzzing, forevermore,_

_With bonds of bondage binding his core."_

"_Fourth, the Lady who knows all,_

_Beliefs askew from order's fall._

_The ugly duckling with heart of gold,_

_With secret lore awesome to behold._

_Fifth is he: the noble's son;_

_His lies lie shattered, deceptions done._

_With social grace beyond compare,_

_Your mind is his with but a stare._

_Sixth is she who stalks the night,_

_The mistress of shadows with eyes alight._

_Cursed by Fate and Blood alike,_

_The mistress is mastered in three bright strikes."_

"_Seventh is a warrior of old;_

_His heart ablaze, his blade stone-cold._

_His talents show in emerald hands,_

_His power bound by magic bands._

_Eighth is she of mental might,_

_With powers revealed by full moon's light._

_Her motives concealed, her master bizarre;_

_An eye for an eye, to send out afar._

_The ninth and last was killed by rumour._

_A magical master of darkest humour._

_A shape-shifting beast, with manic grin,_

_His soul yet safe, despite his sin."_

"_These nine determine the death of man:_

_And all should aid them, if they can._

_But few will help, and fewer matter._

_The difference shall, a single life, shatter._

_A pair of souls, both servants of darkness,_

_Lightning's light, their savior; their faith, he harnessed._

_Fire and Ice, a pair many dread;_

_Bound by debts to the living and dead._

_Beware of Death's Hand: That one, don't oppose._

_His master's gift shall devour his foes._

_His mate, too, is deadly: her mind like a knife;_

_Forever prepared, whatever their strife."_

"_Samhain's eve brings terrors old,_

_Controlled by one of the brave and bold._

_Beware the deceiver, the destroyer of minds:_

_His teachings weaken the saviors of mankind._

_The storm is sealed, locked away,_

_Freeing serpents young to play._

_The prisoners released, by law or flight,_

_Beneath the full moon reunite._

_A traitor found, a story told,_

_And a murderer with Heart of gold._

_Old debts, new debts, all are done;_

_The resurrection plan's begun."_

"_When two of seven fight to win,_

_The mark of darkness is seen again._

_An ancient contest redone anew_

_Makes the dreams of darkness true._

_Storm's light and darkness go face to face,_

_And Death's Hand, soon, will take his place._

_The war of Darkness begins one more;_

_The games begin, like never before._

_The Old Toad flirts with half-truths and lies;_

_Her fingers get caught in too many pies._

_The words of truth are hidden well:_

_Will darkness find them? Time will tell."_

"_Everything is coming together;_

_Friends, both new and old, shall gather._

_With every day, past secrets are revealed,_

_Showing the power Death's Hand shall wield._

_The sins of the light, are revealed to all,_

_But despite this blow, he still stands tall._

_Every ally brings strength untold;_

_Combined, they're a force just barely controlled._

_The battle's now just months away;_

_It may well be our final day._

_Prepare, we must, or dark and light_

_Will best us in this final fight._

_When seventh form of Death is shown,_

_Death's Hand's power is fully grown."_

"_These nine's battle has just begun,_

_And two must die before it's done._

_Forces meet in field asunder_

_Brought together by Lightning's thunder._

_Allegiance revealed, and plans unfurled:_

_Death's Hand's bid to rule the world._

_The triumvirate forever fight,_

_Opposed by both the dark and light._

_Their two opponents will fall with time,_

_And suffer fitting to their crime._

_But if darkness remains by hundredth score,_

_Mankind is doomed forevermore."_

She seemed to go into a daze, before saying "...most undesirable; she can reach quite a high decibel count, can't she?"

Ginny opened her mouth, looking like she was about to start yelling, before Harry said "Yes she can. We'll see you some other time, then Luna. Actually, my birthday's just around the corner, would you be willing to come by and help celebrate?"

"Oh, that would be lovely," Luna answered. "But with only a few days, I might not be able to get you a good present..." She fell deep into thought. "I suppose I shall see you both again quite soon, then...goodbye Lord Potter. Goodbye Ginevra."

"But—" Ginny started to say as he practically pushed her out the door. As it closed behind them, she turned on him and demanded "Why'd you do that?"

"Because that was a prophecy," Hadrian replied as he steered her away from the tower. "Luna's not even aware she said anything like that, so you and I are the only ones who know about it. We'll tell her another time, perhaps, but not right now. Right now we have to keep it a secret."

"What?!" she practically exploded. "Why not?"

He rolled his eyes. "It's the law. The Ministry and Wizengamot are the second official governing body to rule magical England after the fall of the Roman Empire. Having learned from their predecessors' mistakes, they set a number of laws that would protect those of magical ability—or, as they were later interpreted, those of magical blood—and assigned the enforcement of said laws to the Auror. The Auror was the army of light wizards who ascribed to the Catholic doctrine and had previously served as priests throughout the empire."

"How is this relevant?!" Ginny asked through gritted teeth.

"I was getting to that," Harry said. "Anyway, a few of the laws made pertain to prophecies: firstly, the person or persons who witness it being told should make some attempt to manipulate events for the good of all based on their new knowledge. Another law says that sharing the prophecy with those who don't need to know before it's been fulfilled. Finally, anyone caught lying about a prophecy is assumed to be attempting to uproot the Ministry and will be punished for treason. These laws haven't been altered even once since their creation."

Ginny stared at him incredulously before muttering "Those laws are stupid."

Harry smirked at her as he made he ay through a small patch of undergrowth. "I believe I've already mentioned today that just because you've always done something..."

"Doesn't mean it wasn't a dumb arse idea in the first place," she finished with a frown.

"I don't believe I phrased it quite like that, but yes, essentially," he concluded as they passed the boulder from earlier. She fumed for a few minutes, which he wisely spent silent, allowing her to cool down. After a few minutes, he said "So...before we got sidetracked, you were asking me something. What was it?" And so their discussion continued, as if it had never been interrupted. By the time they had arrived at the Burrow, supper had nearly started, and Ginny had more or less promised to keep the prophecy between them. Mrs. Weasley was waiting for them; she ushered them inside with a happy (triumphant?) smile and sat them down at the table next to each other. As the meal commenced, the conversation turned to birthday plans, which were only interrupted by Ron's occasional snide comment/blatant insult (you'd think he would have learned by now). As would be expected, Harry was in truth only half-paying attention, devoting most of his concentration to unraveling Luna's prophetic poem.

* * *

A.N.: EPIC PROPHECY! Ahem...now that that's out of my system, what'd you think? I doubt that this will give you the plot of all seven books, but I'd think a couple of clues were too blatantly obvious for anyone to miss. If you have a question about anything, feel free to leave a review, or PM me. Mind you, I won't give anyone spoilers; I just intend to pick holes in peoples theories, whether they're right or wrong, and maybe "borrow" the good ideas that come along...giving a nod to the original commenter, eventually ;). Anyway, I'd appreciate it if you left a review before moving on to the next tab. Until next time! AV out.


	3. Summer's End

A.N.: Hello and welcome, once more, to the latest installment of "Hadrian Potter: Darkness Returns"! Happy/Merry Christmas/New Year/Kwanzaa/Hanukkah/Hogmanay/Makar Sankranti/Dongzhi/Losar/winter solstice/Mayan apocalypse/winter holidays! First, a moment of silence for those readers who proved natural selection to be real by committing suicide to avoid suffering in the apocalypse. Seriously though; I know that my story has roots in suicide, so I feel compelled to remind you, my readers, that suicide very rarely results in superpowers. Just thought I'd throw that out there.

But you've waited long enough: on with the story! Please read and review.

* * *

Chapter 3: Summer's End

_Darkness. Darkness everywhere. Every direction, every angle, no matter which way he turned, there was nothing but an endless void of black. Actually, that wasn't quite right: the ground at his feet seemed to be a very dark gray just barely visible against the backdrop of nothingness. Oh, yes, and he was moving. There was no breeze on his face, there were no large objects in the distance that seemed to be shifting, and despite having no visual reference to focus on, he didn't feel dizzy. And yet, a feeling in his heart told him that he was going somewhere very fast; going somewhere, and going with purpose._

_There! On the edge of the horizon was a dot of light in the void, shining like a star. Suddenly, he was standing right in front of it, the only indication of just how fast he'd been going. And now he stopped, as if prompted by some force on high to be here, now, to witness what was happening. Towering in front of him was a gigantic stone archway that looked as if it had been here since the beginning of time. Its vast stony surface was etched with what had to be thousands of tiny runes, most of which he couldn't recognize. Hanging from the archway, and covering its opening, was a translucent veil fluttering in a non-existent breeze. He thought he could hear whispers on the other side, but when the wind moved it enough to see past it, there was nothing but more of the void._

_Finally, his ears detected something in the silence that filled this void: a soft, rhythmic tapping, like a person walking. Suddenly, something passed through him. A person, perhaps a man, stood just in front of him. As he could only see the back of them, all he could see was a long black cloak, the edges of which seemed to blur at times, making it completely indistinguishable from the emptiness on the horizon before they sharpened back into visibility. The figure stopped, staring up at the monstrous arch that stood before it. The cloak seemed to shrug, as if the person beneath it were shifting. A soft sigh pierced the cold air (was it really air?) before the sounds of chanted incantations began to emanate from the cloaked being._

_In a slow wave, the runes that covered the archway lit up, glowing in more colours than were contained in a rainbow. The unfelt wind that spurred the veil picked up, whipping it back and forth. Behind it, flashes of color could be seen; no longer simply an eternity of black. Instead, green fields, blue rivers, rocky mountain tops, and underground chambers could be seen just beyond it. Suddenly, the veil fell, motionless, as if the wind had suddenly abated. The figure stepped forward, but stopped. It turned around, as if to face him._

_It wasn't much to look at, even from the front: the long cloak covered most of its body all the way to his heels. The boots were the blackest of dragon-scale, or perhaps some other large scaled creature. Its clothes appeared as silk; at least, where they could be seen beneath the armour that covered its form. The armor itself was of a weird metal that seemed to absorb the light coming from the runes. A hilt for a sword could be seen at its belt, as well as several belt pouches of various sizes and. The being's most noticeable feature was its face, or rather, the mask that covered it: the monstrosity was constructed to appear like a dark grey hellish skull with literal emeralds for eyes._

_A short rod, or perhaps a particularly long wand, appeared in its hand—he jerked away to avoid a spell, only for no spell to fly towards him—and was waved back and forth a few times, as if sweeping the area. Apparently satisfied, the being sent the rod back wherever it came from and spoke in a deep voice. It sounded quite metallic, as if it was a robot...or perhaps the mask simply disguised its voice? It said "I may not be able to see you, but I know you are there." He moved, preparing to be attacked. "No, no. That won't be necessary, although your caution is admirable; I mean you no harm." It seemed to be contemplating him. "While I could tell you of the barriers you will face, I won't; to be honest, you will probably fare a bit better if you don't overanalyze them beforehand. Indeed, luck can be a powerful ally," the being mused. He felt like scowling, but that it would be pointless. "Quite. While I would love to chat, I have places to be, things to be doing, and people to be ruining," it said with a slight chuckle. It turned back towards the veil and walked forward. As it reached the veil, it paused and said "I look forward to meeting you when you embark on your next great adventure. Good morning, Harry Potter." It continued, passing through the veil._

_Good Morning?_

_—July 31, 1992—_

Hadrian Potter awoke to find a small red-headed little girl shaking him awake. "Good morning, Harry!" she said. "Happy birthday!"

He gave a grin, though inside he still pondered his dream. "Thank you, Ginny. Now, if you don't mind, would you please leave so I can get dressed in peace?" His grin widened as she blushed, muttered a quick apology, and darted from the room. Chuckling, he grabbed his a shirt and some pants and, noting the time as a quarter to noon, left to use the shower. Given that it was his birthday, he'd decided to have a bit of a lie in. Quickly finishing his shower, lest the twins begin enacting yet another convoluted revenge plan, he slipped into his clothes and made his way downstairs after dealing with other hygiene issues, stopping in his room to pick up a small potion vial he'd been preparing the past week or so. As he left the room, his thoughts turned to his dream: it was not the first since his visit with Luna, but never had anything been able to detect him, at least of those few visions that contained people.

"Who—or what—was that being?" he thought as he descended the stairs, passing the master bedroom on the third floor. "Were they some sort of Death Eater? Makes sense, since they said they wanted me dead. Some sort of mercenary or assassin, perhaps?" As he reached the ground, a new thought came to him: could the being be Death's Hand? Was the void he'd seen the afterlife? And to have such a vision on his birthday—

"Good morning, Harry," Mrs. Weasley said with a smile, missing his slight jerk. The kitchen was filled with dishes of food ready to eat, while the stove was covered in pots and pans, all busy cooking. "Happy Birthday."

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said. "I suppose there'll be a party, like you've mentioned? I told you already, you didn't have to go through the trouble."

"Nonsense," she replied. "It's been wonderful having you here, dear. Now go on: I'm cooking a nice feast with cake to accompany the party, and you aren't to lift a finger to help, and I won't take no for an answer!" she said, brandishing a wooden spoon, the smile threatening to break out on her face opposing her near-violent words and actions. He gave a placating smile, before moving on outside, where the party had already started. The Weasleys were milling about, making up the majority of the crowd present. Neville was talking with Percy, while the twins were spiking Ron's drink with something. Luna was busy talking with Hermione (she'd made it!), who appeared to be getting a bit frustrated talking with the odd blonde. Near the tables that housed his presents and the various dishes Mrs. Weasley had prepared, the Weasley parents were in a discussion with a regal-looking old lady who was probably Neville's grandmother. Near the gate, and looking like they were a bit uncomfortable being here, were a middle-aged couple dressed in formal formal wear, deep in conversation with—Dumbledore! What was he doing here?

"Ah! Good morning, Lord Potter, and Happy birthday!" the Headmaster said in greeting, smiling broadly; Harry managed to contain his flinch at the words from his dream repeating once more, as he knew the old man was sure to notice.

Harry shot him a small smile—the kind that doesn't come with teeth—and said "And a good morning to you, too, Professor. I confess myself surprised at your presence here; care to explain?"

"I assume you remember the discussion we had before school let out for summer break?" the man asked. At Harry's affirmation, he continued: "Well, I wished to make sure that you were still safe enough for the holidays."

"Unless the forces of darkness decide to try and get at me by going deep undercover as gnomes, I think I'll be fine," he replied a tad sarcastically. The couple gave him a mild glare, which he ignored.

The headmaster looked inexplicably troubled. "I shall look into this theory of yours, Lord Potter; such a cunning act has, no doubt, been considered by those wishing you ill." Harry gazed at the man in astonishment; the adults he'd been talking to seemed as surprised as he was by the man's serious reaction to what was clearly a joke.

"Er...yes, well..." Harry said, trying to think of what to say, when he heard a commotion over his left shoulder: two raised voices, which he recognized as Hermione and Ginny, were emanating from near the punch bowl "If you'll excuse me, Professor, I should probably go do something about that before it gets out of hand," Harry said; receiving a nod from the Headmaster, who returned to his previous conversation with the couple, Harry made his way over to the punch bowl, where Hermione and Ginny were almost coming to blows, while Luna looked on serenely, occasionally sipping on her cup of punch.

"Well at least I'm not being used for my brain!" Ginny said, narrowing her eyes at Hermione as she balled her hands into fists.

"Well of course not; that would be quite pointless, wouldn't it?" Hermione shot back.

"Oh, and what's that supposed to—"

"Hermione! Ginny!" Hadrian snapped, startling the both of them. Rather than stop their argument, they started trying to get him to pick a side.

"Harry, this little—"

"But Harry, she called me—"

"Silence! Both of you!" When they complied, shocked, he continued. "You are both good friends of mine, and are here to have a good time; Hermione, Ginny has been a constant companion since I arrived at the Burrow, and has become an even better friend than the twins."

"Oi!" two voices cried in unison.

"You know it's true," he called out over his shoulder. Turning back, he continued: "Ginny, Hermione has been my friend for almost a year now; I know her better than I know you and we've been on multiple adventures together. If you're going to fight, fight, but don't try to drag me into it and make me pick between the two of you. Besides, this petty arguing is beneath you both of you. Just...find something that you can agree on, okay?"

"Who invited Loony Lovegood?!" an indignant voice cried out from behind him. Sighing, Harry turned around to find Ronald Weasley once more attempting to jam his foot as far into his mouth as possible.

"I did," he said with a sigh. "Being that it's my birthday, I can invite who I want." That statement wasn't entirely true: Draco had been unable to attend, citing his father's displeasure at him going to the Burrow, but that couldn't be helped.

"But she's crazy!" the ginger git cried out.

"No she's not!" Ginny retorted.

Hermione joined in: "Luna's a bit odd, but she's a very nice girl. What's she done to you to deserve such treatment?"

Ginny snorted. "She told him once his head was infested with Wrackspurts. He was so scared that he tried to outrun them," she said with a laugh. "Ended up jumping in the pond to escape them!" she continued with the story. Harry and Hermione started snickering, while Ron turned redder and redder.

"Do you have any other embarrassing stories about your youngest older brother you'd be willing to share?" Hermione asked with a wicked grin.

Ginny returned the grin, and Ronald's face whitened a bit. "As a matter of fact, I do," the ginger girl said slyly. "Tonnes. Any requests? He's done a lot of stupid...stuff over the years." As she spoke, Ronald face grew paler, and he began backing up slowly.

"See? You can agree on something," Harry said. "I'll leave you to it: have fun!" With that, he walked off to greet the other guests; he had a short conversation with Neville, asking about his summer; with a bit of prodding, he began talking about what he was growing in his garden, and about how his grandmother was so proud of his academic progress.

A short bit into the conversation, his fellow second year-to-be let slip that his grandmother was teaching him the subtle art of politics, supposedly in preparation for when he became Lord Longbottom. Harry smiled and nodded, while inside of his head he was marking off a box on his mental checklist: Dowager Longbottom was a political force to be reckoned with, and had played this game, whether as Lady Longbottom or as Dowager Longbottom, for nearly 50 years. Her knowledge, which was being passed to Neville, would be a great asset, which Hadrian could hopefully use to his benefit.

All of a sudden, their conversation was cut short by a cry of "Time for presents!" by Mrs. Weasley. Harry acquiesced and, after excusing himself from the conversation politely, went over to the small pile on a table off to the side, and began picking out gifts as everyone gathered round. Hermione's gift was a book (of course) on general Defense, filled with spells and various tactics to use in combat against another wizard; there were moving pictures and diagrams of several forms and strategic positioning. His eyes alit as he saw what she'd given him. As he looked up at her, she gave him a small smile, just before he gave her a huge hug. The next present, brought by Draco's eagle owl, Mordred, was "Potions and Poisons: The Magical Science", a book filled with potion theory at least a few years above his age level. He made a note to send Hedwig with a thank-you letter before moving on to the next box.

The twins had pooled their considerable talents together, along with some of their father's knowledge of muggle technology, to create what they called the "Ultimate Swiss Army Knife". It was supposedly enchanted to contain any tool he could think of; the small handle would create a hard energy tool up to 75 cubic centimeters in volume, created entirely by the mind of whoever held it. The handle itself was smooth steel, making it nearly resistant to magic, so that the energy wouldn't be able to do much to it, in the unlikely situation it accidentally touched the handle. The possibilities were threatening to cause an evil grin to break out on Harry's face.

Luna had given him a small box that contained a necklace made of butterbeer tabs; it appeared to be enchanted, according to his magical sight, but he couldn't figure out how. When he raised an eyebrow at her, she shrugged, smiled, and motioned for him to put it on. He did so, before moving on.

Ginny came over to present her gift personally, handing it to him with a smile and a "Happy Birthday." It was a small black book, nothing too special about it...actually, looking at it magically, there was a simple charm on it to transfer ink to some other source. Looking up at her, he asked what it was. She said "It's a diary; you can write down your thoughts, take out your frustrations...anything."

"Thanks for the gift," he said softly, getting a small blush. Mrs. Weasley smiled, as did Dumbledore, which made Hadrian narrow his eyes a little almost imperceptibly.

His next present was from Neville, and was exactly what Harry had expected: a book on Herbology, filled with information on various flora and fauna from around the world. As he was thanking his second Gryffindor friend, a white dot appeared over the Burrow; as it got closer, the image sharpened into his owl familiar, Hedwig, carrying a small brown package. She dropped the package into his hands and landed on his shoulder, hooting softly as she rubbed against his head. He opened it, revealing a long knife. It was some 24 centimeters or so, and appeared to be made of silver, unless he missed his guess. The handle was a dark metal shaped into the appearance of a swarm of bats, with a blood-red jewel in the pommel. The stylized handle was subtly inlaid with a few runes that his basic knowledge of the subject told him, laid out the way they were, would slightly increase the physical abilities of its wielder. A small note wrapped around the blade read "If you're going to insist on walking in the forest outside of the school year when I know where you are, you should at least carry this when you do. -S.D."

Ginny, who was looking over his shoulder, asked "Who's S.D.?"

"A friend I made at Hogwarts," Harry replied as he marveled at the craftsmanship of the weapon.

"I didn't see anyone with those initials on the list of people you gave me," Mrs. Weasley said with a frown. In the background, Dumbledore was pondering the situation.

Harry stared at her, a slight frown gracing his features. "Her coming would have caused issues...much like why Draco isn't here. It's just for the best; Sable being here would cause problems." Harry noticed Ron blanch at the name, while Neville just raised an eyebrow.

"Who's Sable?" Ginny asked, a note of concern in her voice.

"A friend," Harry said, his own tone of voice indicating that the subject should be dropped.

"You're friends with that—" Ronald started to say in a trembling tone of voice.

"Not that it's any of your business, Weasley, but yes," Harry snapped, annoyed at the redhead's virtually baseless fear.

"If I may, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore spoke up. "I imagine some of Molly's concerns regarding this gift are the possible dangers; it could be cursed, and without knowing the source, her concern is understandable. If you would allow me to—"

"With all due respect, Headmaster," Harry interrupted, to both the professor's and everyone else's surprise. "As you and I both know the source of this particular gift, we both know that they couldn't afford to have it cursed; the consequences would be too high." He noticed, out of the corner of his eye, the Grangers stiffening at his callous treatment of the esteemed headmaster; he made a note to improve his behavior.

The old man's eyes twinkled, and he acquiesced: "I do believe you're right on that point, Lord Potter. My mistake." Although he appeared quite calm about it, Hadrian could sense a touch of annoyance coming off of the man, which provided him a small bit of comfort and amusement.

Mrs. Weasley wasn't so subtle about her annoyance at this behavior. "Harry James Potter!" she said, raising her voice. "Don't be so rude to the Headmaster! He was only trying to help."

"I'm more than aware of that, Mrs. Weasley," Harry replied. "The Headmaster and I have a...working relationship. Every once in awhile, when we're talking, he'll get an idea in his head that's not quite up to his normal standards. He has a tendency to overlook a few small details in his quest to fulfill the big picture. Those small details usually turn out to be rather important; having someone who can point out the mistakes, the small flaws in his logic that are nevertheless crucial to his conclusion, can save everyone a lot of trouble."

Dumbledore nodded at this. "Please Molly, let it slide; I'm more than aware of my faults, as is Lord Potter, and two heads are usually better than one." Harry noticed the Grangers relax at his confirmation; they were at least accepting of him if Dumbledore wasn't completely against him, so that was something.

"But if you don't recognize the mistake, how could he?" Mrs. Weasley asked, apparently still not convinced.

The old man smiled. "Harry's point of view is...different enough from mine that we tend to notice different things. Besides, it goes the other way as well: there are occasions when his path is clearly wrong to me, but right to him, and he needs to be set straight." Harry bristled at this, though not visibly: had to keep up appearances, after all.

Molly seemed to accept this explanation, and the party continued. Soon enough, everyone returned to what they'd been doing, whether it was eating cake, engaging in conversation, or spiking the punch (in the case of the twins). As Harry made his way over to Hermione, he was sidetracked by Ginny, who wanted to talk. "Harry," she said, a bit nervously. "About Sable...why was Ron so—"

"Because he is ignorant and biased against things he doesn't understand," he snapped. At the sight of her downtrodden look, he sighed. "I apologize. I understand your curiosity on the subject, but it's unlikely that the two of you will meet, especially if your brother is able to keep you from leaving Gryffindor tower at night, so as not to be caught going where you shouldn't."

Ginny's nervous demeanor didn't leave and, if anything, appeared to have worsened. "Okay...if you're sure," she mumbled, walking away. Harry sighed, before continuing towards Hermione.

As he got close, he said "It's good to see my best friend; I was afraid you weren't going to make it."

"Harry!" she exclaimed, smiling at the sight of him. "It's good to see you, too." Her expression turned pensive. "You know, I almost didn't. I've been arguing with my parents about you for a week. I guess I wore them down enough."

He smiled. "That's good. They look like they're enjoying themselves," he said, gesturing to the two muggles, who were deep in conversation with Mr. Weasley, who was likely asking every question he could think of regarding dentistry.

"I imagine so," she said. "I think they're warming up to you, especially after that little disagreement between you and Professor Dumbledore." He nodded in agreement, happy that she'd noticed that as well. They stood there, observing the rest of the party in the confortable silence only good friends can manage. After a while, Hermione spoke up: "I see you invited Neville. Any reason why?"

"He's nice enough...for a Gryffindor," Harry answered, shifting his focus to the slightly pudgy boy, who was speaking with Luna at the moment with an odd look on his face. "Like you. He seems to have some confidence issues, but I can sense a greatness in him: he's more capable than he seems."

"Oh, yes, he's quite skilled in Herbology, and that's a rare skill in the Wizarding World. Did you know there's only..." and on she went, going off on a tangent, discussing the relatively low number of Herbology masters in the world, their various accomplishments, who they'd studied with, and so on. Eventually, Harry was able to pull her back to reality, and they began talking about their summers, and more importantly, their plans for the year. When they'd talked on the Express before the summer, Hermione had suggested they each choose some sort of project to work on for the year: she'd decided to introduce herself to the basics of Runes and Arithmancy, as she planned to take them both as electives for third year. Harry had a sneaking suspicion that she intended to take all of the electives, and while he was pretty sure there were some scheduling issues, he also knew she wouldn't let something that simple stop her from doing so.

Harry, already having some theoretical and practical knowledge on both subjects, had decided to look into wandless spellcasting. Hermione had admonished him, insisting that it was supposed to be ridiculously difficult; she had been shocked speechless when he'd cast a couple spells wandless on the platform. She'd almost admonished him for using magic outside of Hogwarts against the rules, but had held her tongue; a sure sign, to him at least, that he was getting through to her. That he'd been able to use his meager skills to frighten the Dursleys was an added bonus; now, though, he could cast most of the first and second year spells wandless. The twins had been right to be awed: it was quite an accomplishment, and one that Hadrian wanted to keep secret for the time being.

Hermione had been more than aware of this and had immediately begun pleading with him to share his discoveries. You see, wandless magic was one of the hardest casting methods to master, or even practice, for reason unknown to the majority of the wizarding world: they were told it was close to impossible, and most never tried. Harry did admit it was difficult, although he had started out trying to control his magic without the aid of a focus, so he had a slight advantage in that his first conscious use of magic didn't force him into a limited mindset. One thing they were both aware of is that wandless magic required a similar focus to some of the higher forms of magicks, such as offensive runic and arithmantic spells, Divine Magick, and summoning. Of course, they wouldn't likely be learning anything on that level of power and skill until long after Hogwarts, unless something came up that made such demanding training necessary.

They chatted for awhile, talking about their individual progress (Hermione had memorized several Egyptian hieroglyphics already), before splitting off with promises to write. Harry continued his walk around the party; as the day went on, he had several interesting conversations, played some party games, and observed the guests, filing away any useful information for later. Soon enough, Mrs. Weasley announced that the cake was ready. As everyone gathered around, she levitated a masterfully made confection out of the house and onto the table in front of him.

First off, it was enormous; with the number of people present, there would be enough for everyone to get a large slice with plenty left over for seconds. It was decorated to appear as if it was a stack of three presents wrapped in black and green wrapping paper, complete with an elaborate bow on top. He was invited to "Blow out the candles and make a wish", which he took pleasure in doing; rather than blowing them out one by one, he physically blew out the one on top, while using a small bit of wandless magic to snuff out the other ones. A few sharp intakes of breath from behind him indicated at least three people had noticed this: Hermione, of course, and Dumbledore, and...Neville's Gran? Interesting.

As his friends sang him "Happy Birthday", and he pretended to enjoy the song (remembering the only times it had ever been sung to him), Mrs. Weasley cut off nearly a third of the present on top and the bow and put the piece on a plate, handing it to Harry. "Go on, dear," she said. "How's it taste?"

He picked up a fork and took a bite. Distantly, he felt something prick his wrist as the world around him seemed to take on an ethereal quality, as if he was dreaming. Struggling to remember what that meant as he took another bite, he suddenly realized what was happening. He took a swig of his drink and the world returned to normal. "Excellent cake, Mrs. Weasley," he said, and she seemed to relax. Inwardly, he was plotting her demise: his symptoms matched the description of those administered diluted Amortentia, a love potion powerful enough to be illegal. As no one else (not even Dumbledore) seemed even slightly disoriented, he concluded that she had tried to make the potion into an Assassin's Poison version of itself.

This style of potion-making had been around for a few millennia; it complicated the brewing process exponentially, but made it so that, no matter how many people ingested it, and no matter how spread out it was, it would only affect the first person to eat or drink it.

As the next few hours passed by, the found themselves running out of things to talk about; with the party winding down anyway, Hermione agreed that it was time to leave. She collected her parents (who were still in conversation with the Weasley parents) and the three of them left; from the looks of it, Professor Dumbledore had Side-Apparated them here, if their method of departure was any indication. As the name indicated, it was most often used by assassins to poison their targets' food subtly without having to ensure that their food was the only food so poisoned, so long as they made sure that they were the first to ingest it. A few customs came about because of this: in ancient Egypt, the pharaoh would have someone else taste all his food so as to detect all poisons magical and non contained within. The other custom is toasting: generally, the person who cooked the meal, or who employed the person who did so, would be the first person to taste anything; as drinks were the usual thing so poisoned, it became customary for that person to propose a toast, to ensure their guests that the food and drink weren't poisoned.

Harry had suspected that Mrs. Weasley had started to catch onto his little game, and concluded that today was the most likely day for her to strike, and strike she did, with a slightly diluted version of the most powerful love potion available on the market—love potions that were dangerous, and illegal to boot. Fortunately, as he'd considered this a possibility for the past week, he'd brewed a powerful enough antidote to allow his watch, his strong immune system, and his iron will to resist the now severely diluted love potion. Still, he had to keep up appearances; since the cake had already been ingested, the rest of the potion permeating it was now inert, and he could eat without fear of enslavement. The party continued on, and Molly didn't once suspect that Harry still yet remained virtually unaffected by her potion-based manipulation.

The party began winding down, and soon enough, people began to leave one by one. Once all the guests were gone, the cleanup began; Molly had insisted that Harry not help, since it was his birthday. He went into the twins' and his room and proceeded to practice using his new utility knife: he quickly discovered that using the twins' gift as a weapon was almost pointless due to the level of concentration required, not to mention the small size of anything he could possibly create with it. He was thankful, then, for Sable's present: it truly was a marvel of craftsmanship, and functionally sound to boot.

After he found himself going through his known set of small tools for the third time, he decided to look at the books he'd gotten; Ginny's present was still a bit of a mystery, but the other books were quite informative. The Potions book he'd received from Draco contained detailed tables of ingredient reactions: Potions was vaguely similar to muggle chemistry in execution, but not so similar that there was one table that could tell you virtually everything about an ingredient.

There were simply too many factors: the amount of an ingredient used could have a different reaction from expected if too much or too little is used; the temperature used to heat the potion could be very finicky depending on the ingredients necessary to that particular potion's creation; even the time of day, week, month, season, or year could affect the magical properties inherent to the ingredients, as could the area of the world in which they were brewed. In truth, Potions was more like cooking than chemistry, and while science could potentially be used to calculate the best method of making a potion, it required more scientific knowledge and understanding than is possessed by the entire of the wizarding world.

A knock on the door drew him out of his reading. Opening the door carefully, in case it was Fred or George with a prank waiting for him, he was a bit relieved to find only Ginny, who looked a bit tired, but happy. "I didn't want to say anything in front of mum," she said carefully, "But the journal is...linked to another journal, which I have. So whatever you write in your journal will disappear, and I'll be able to see it, and vice versa." She grew a bit shy once more, obviously a bit nervous about giving him this present. "Do you like it?" she asked.

He smiled. "It's great," he replied, eliciting a small blush from the girl. They stood there for a minute, not saying anything. "So," Harry ventured eventually. "Want to see how many pranks we can put on the twins' beds before they get up here?" Her face lit up at his suggestion, and the two of them got to work, a small snicker escaping from them every once in awhile as they proceeded to turn the bedroom into a minefield.

_—August 9, 1991—_

Hadrian Potter was starting to get annoyed. Mrs. Weasley had figured out quickly that he wasn't falling inexplicably in love with Ginny, as she'd expected, but was treating her like a friend rather than the precious, fragile jewel Mrs. Weasley suddenly seemed to think she was. The red-headed girl was kept too busy to go on walks anymore, in an attempt to keep her from doing something stupid out there and breaking something (never mind that Mrs. Weasley knew a number of healing spells for broken bones). What's more, she had decided to begin drugging everything she could in an attempt to get him under her control; fortunately, most of what she used was negated by his watch's built-in defenses, only requiring a sip of his home brewed antidote whenever she slipped him something more powerful.

As soon as he'd caught on to what she was doing, he started insisting on cooking for himself as politely as possible while others were present; so long as Arthur or Percy was present, she'd acquiesce, albeit reluctantly, but other times, he was stuck taking a sip from his home brewed antidote to counteract whatever she'd tried to slip in. He was running out quicker than he'd expected, but that was okay: today was the day they would go shopping in Diagon Alley; he'd be able to slip away and buy the ingredients necessary to make some more, as well as enough store brewed antidote to cover him until he could make his own. Regardless, he was looking forward to seeing a couple of his friends in the Alley.

Breakfast today went by quicker than usual; rather than the usual spread, there was just a few plates of pancakes, bacon, and scrambled eggs. While Ron moaned about not getting enough to eat, the rest of the Weasleys seemed a bit anxious; they, like Harry, were waiting for the Hogwarts owls to arrive with their supplies lists for the next school year. Suddenly, a group of three owls flew through the open window and landed on the table; the first landed in front of Percy, bearing a letter that did not bear the Hogwarts seal. Opening it, he perused it quickly, nodded, and set it down before returning to his breakfast, deep in thought. The owl with the most letters—five in total—landed in front of Mr. Weasley. He untied the bundle and sent the owl on its way after giving it a treat.

Everyone's attention was on the final owl, which had landed in front of Ginny. She took the letter with a shaky hand; opening it, she read through it at breakneck speed, before smiling and announcing she'd received her Hogwarts letter. As congratulations came from around the table, Mr. Weasley busied himself with passing out the bundle of letters he'd received to those already enrolled at Hogwarts: Percy, Ron, Harry, and the twins.

After breakfast, everyone was getting ready to go: according to Ginny, they had always received the owl post containing Hogwarts stuff on (?), and had always gone out afterwards to get school supplies. After some 20 minutes, everyone was gathered in the living room around the fireplace. Mrs. Weasley was busy praising Percy as she picked up a small sealed flower pot resting on the mantle. Harry asked "What's that about?"

Fred replied "Oh, Perfect Percy just so happened—"

"—to get his O.W.L. results—"

"—this morning at breakfast. Unknown—"

"—to mum at the time, he had—"

"—managed to receive—"

"—a whopping twelve O.W.L.s!" George finished.

"And most of them in the O and E range," Fred added. "Even History of Magic," he said. They exchanged a look that spoke of how disappointed they were in their older brother's devotion to his studies. "He made prefect last year, and McGonagall decided he didn't suck too badly, and did it again. If we're not careful, we'll have another Head Boy in the family." They shuddered at the idea. "I doubt we could bear the shame."

"That's nice," Harry said as Mrs. Weasley began chanting something under her breath. "But I was actually asking about the dust she's throwing into the fireplace."

"Oh," George said. "That's just Floo powder." As if on cue, the fireplace burst into green flames, crackling merrily, although it gave off no heat. Harry nodded; he'd heard all about Floo travel from Draco last year, and was more than familiar with how it worked.

"Percy, why don't you go first," Mrs. Weasley said. The lanky teen shrugged and, stooping, fit himself into the fireplace. Grabbing a handful of Floo powder, he cried out "Diagon Alley!" in a loud clear voice as he dropped the powder at his feet. The flames surged up, engulfing his form for a split second, before dying down again; he was gone.

"Fred, George: take turns," Mrs. Weasley said. Fred walked up, closely followed by his twin. They each took a handful of powder; George went first, and was shortly engulfed in flames, with Fred right behind him. "Alright, Harry; your turn," she said. He walked up, taking a handful, and made his way into the fireplace. The green tongues of flame licked around him, but didn't burn at all. There was still smoke and ash though, and it was making it a bit difficult to breathe.

Throwing the dust down he started to speak just in time to get a mouthful of smoke rising right into his face. "D-dia-gonally," he coughed out. The flames rose to consume him and off he went. It felt like he'd gone down the loo; he was spinning like a top, passing what felt like hundreds of fireplaces, hearing small snippets of conversation as he did so, which were, unfortunately drowned out by the roar of the floo fire that surrounded him Finally, he toppled out of a fireplace, covered in soot from head to toe, only to find himself in some dark, grimy antique shop. He groaned as he realized he was probably in some shop in Knockturn Alley; there were no windows, he noticed, but then, they probably didn't want anyone wandering by to be able to look in and see who shopped there. As he cast a small charm to clean away the soot, he idly wondered why they just had a Floo fire going already.

Making his way through the shop, he actually saw a few things that interested him: there was a large black cabinet up against one wall that might have been a Vanishing cabinet at one point...namely, the point when it had been in any sort of state of repair. There was a bloodstained deck of cards that supposedly was used for summoning powerful demons, although he'd never heard of the any wizard by the name of Yugi Moto; the fact that such a clearly Japanese person had mastered Egyptian demon summoning magic was even more confusing, but he let it go. In one corner of the shop was a severed hand in an upright position that could hold a candle; it was advertised as the Hand of Glory, giving light under any circumstances, and only to the wielder, if a candle was inserted. There was a glass cabinet full of skulls preserved at different points of time after their owners' deaths so as to be used as a material component in ritual magick: the top shelf was skulls removed the day their owner died; the next shelf down was a week later; the next a lunar cycle later; the one after that a season later; the next a year after; the final shelf on the bottom bore skulls more than a year old, with most being at least a decade old, and the oldest getting close to 250 years past its expiration date.

The wall to the left of the door that presumably led out into the alley was covered in masks shaped into various twisted shapes, likely intended to terrify the viewer. A counter set up near the far back of the store was mostly covered in display cases: one contained a disembodied eye that seemed to be watching him, while another held a necklace of luxurious design; there was a note on the case, but he only make out the word 'caution' from the distance, since it had been written in such large red letters. A lengthy rack of weapons sat next to the Floo he'd tumbled out of; it bore a few daggers, a great big two-handed sword, what looked like an executioner's axe, and a twin pair of scimitars, to name a few. Most of the weapons seemed to ooze darkness, or just felt a bit off, in his opinion.

His perusing was interrupted by the sound of footsteps getting louder. Drawing his invisibility cloak out of his pocket, he quickly threw it around his shoulders and pulled up the hood, just as the Floo behind him flared up. Through it came two figures: Draco and his father, with the latter in front. The older Malfoy looked around, before saying "Touch nothing, Draco." Said Slytherin bristled at being talked to like a child, but did as ordered, simply looking around.

A wizened old man came out of the back, rushing through the aisles at a pace that belied his apparent age. "Ah, Lord Malfoy! So good to see you. I'm sorry if I've kept you waiting. Please take your time and, as always, everything is for sale...for the right price, of course."

"I have little interest in buying, Mr. Borgin. Rather, I have several items for sale," Lucius said in his usual arrogant tone of voice, as if expecting to be immediately obeyed. Mr. Borgin, probably the owner, Harry thought, looked curious at the man's words. "As you're probably aware, the Ministry has been doing a number of raids as of late on ancestral homes. While I have nothing of suspicion, of course, I have several items within my manor that are, unfortunately, no longer useful...at least for their intended purposes." The blond lord pulled a roll of parchment from a pocket in his robes and handed it to the old man, who took it. Mr. Borgin pulled out a thick pair of reading glasses and began looking the list over as Mr. Malfoy continued.

"While these items may have served the Malfoy family well, they are only taking up room now. As I don't want to simply destroy them, I thought perhaps we could come to an arrangement to ensure that they go to those that could make good use of them and could properly care for them," he said in an off-hand manner. "Thankfully, the Malfoy name still earns respect in the Ministry, else I would've already found Aurors breaking down my door and searching my home on an anonymous tip. These raids are a disgrace; allowing blood traitor Aurors to ransack ancestral homes...and this infernal Muggle Protection Bill. No doubt that muggle lover Weasley is behind it, but he shouldn't be a problem for too much longer."

"Yes, yes," Mr. Borgin muttered. "Blood traitors...disgraceful..." He trailed off. Looking up, he squinted through his glasses. "I believe we can come to an arrangement. I will send a few boys to pick up these items tonight, if that's acceptable with you. We can negotiate a price in the back. If you'll follow me." He beckoned, turning towards the back of the store.

"Of course," Lucius said with a smile. "Come Draco," he snapped, catching the boy reaching for the deck of cards. "What did I tell you?" he hissed a he dragged Draco away from the display case. "Half the shite in here is cursed and has felled better..." his voice, soft, but filled with anger, grew distant as he reached the doorway behind the counter and passed through it, the door shutting behind him.

Harry removed the cloak from around himself and, stuffing it back into his pocket, made his way out into the alley. Pulling up his hood, he made his way through the crowded alley. Suddenly, some old crone latched onto his arm. "Knockturn's no place for a youngun like yourself, mister. Let ol' Gertha help you out of here," she said in a voice like sandpaper.

"Sorry, but I'm doing just fine," he replied, unsuccessfully trying to pull his arm free.

"Now, now, that's no way to speak to your elders, sonny," she replied, tightening her grip. By now, the woman's words had started to draw a crowd. A few were snickering at him, while some jeered. None looked concerned for him, though; it looked like he'd have to get himself out of this.

Allowing his aura to flare out at the woman, he spoke in a voice filled with venom: "If I require your assistance, crone, I will ask for it. Until such a desperate time as that, release me...unless you wish to go into a long distance relationship with you right arm." The woman quickly released him, as though burned and disappeared into the crowd, which was muttering discontentedly. Ignoring them, he pushed through the crowd for a while, until he found the entrance to Diagon.

Making his way back into the more familiar alley, he couldn't see the Weasleys. Deciding he'd catch up with them when he found them, he made his first stop at Gringotts to pick up some money. A short, pleasant conversation and several minutes of goblin-made roller coaster later, his Gringotts bag was filled with gold and he was ready to start shopping. A quick meeting with his account manager ensured that his investments were flourishing, and that they were still investigating the Sirius Black issue, trying to find some overlooked evidence that might make a trial prudent in Dumbledore's eyes. Thinking things through, he asked if they knew of some good legal counsel, and was referred to Abbott & Tonks, a law firm run out of Diagon Alley that often represented the goblins-and well, at that.

Thanking Thrashgrab, he made his way out of the bank and walked down Diagon Alley in search of the law firm's office. He found it a short distance from the entrance to Ollivander's wand shop. After a half-hour of rather heated conversation with one of the firm's founders, a Mrs. Andromeda Tonks (who had been born a Black and thought he was dragging up old news), he had enlisted their services in investigating the circumstances surrounding Sirius Black's arrest once he pointed out some of the discrepancies surrounding his capture by the Aurors, his peculiar lack of a trial, and no small amount of appealing to her family ties. Returning to the alley, he saw a glimpse of Weasley red hair coming towards the bank. The small mob of Weasleys reached him, and was shocked to see him standing there.

"Harry!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed loudly. "What—how—never mind. Are you alright?"

"Just fine, Mrs. Weasley," he replied with a small smile. "A slight detour, but I'm no worse for wear."

"Alright, then; let's go inside," she said distractedly, ushering him to the doors of the bank he'd just exited.

Extracting himself from her hold, he said "I'll just wait; I've already dealt with my finance issues. Would you like me to wait here, or should I just get started?"

She looked a bit put out. "Go on, we'll probably be a bit," she responded. He nodded and set off down the alley. In truth, he would have done this anyway; he preferred doing things on his own. The Weasleys were nice enough, for the most part—Ronald was still an arse— and Molly's scheming was limited to dosing him with potions and feeling good about herself, not knowing his watch prevented virtually everything she'd done, so he didn't have to worry about that. Still, he needed a bit of a break from them. Besides, Mrs. Weasley would surely object to some of the purchases he intended to carry out.

He topped off his top-notch potions kit with the ingredients he'd need this year, both for class, and for...extracurricular brewing. He also purchased a better scale so as to measure his ingredients more accurately and precisely. He picked up some owl treats for Hedwig from the pet store; nothing for Cheshire, though: he couldn't actually remember feeding the purple nargle at any point, but he knew the cat-like creature had to eat. Shrugging, he exited to go find True Vision. Returning to the eye healer's store, he paid for one of the upgrades he'd passed up the year prior: a mode of vision that would allow him to see through solid objects. The healer who ran the place seemed a bit nervous about modifying his eyes in this way, but he was insistent, and his gold was good, so the man let it slide. A mere fifteen minutes later, his X-ray vision was in place, and he was a hundred galleons poorer.

By the time he'd emerged from True Vision, the Weasleys had finished their business in Gringotts and were once again searching for him. He snuck up on Ginny and tapped her on the shoulder. "Excuse me, miss," he said, getting her to give out a small shriek. she turned and, seeing his amused smirk, whacked him on the arm.

"Don't scare me like that!" she said insistently as he rubbed his arm.

He smiled good-naturally. "How would you like me to scare you, then?"

She blushed so deeply her face was almost as red as her hair. "I-I..."

"Only kidding, my dear. I didn't mean to imply anything," Harry said. Switching his attention to Mrs. Weasley, he said "So, I suppose we should go get our books: the line's only gotten longer, so we may as well go in now." She nodded, a bit upset that he'd continued on without them, where she couldn't keep an eye on him and his purchases.

As they approached the bookstore, Harry remembered why he'd been avoiding this: Gilderoy Lockhart, the author and main character of over half of his Hogwarts booklist, was selling signed copies of his newest book, "Magical Me"; apparently, this book was a complete biography of his early life, a brief overview of his education, and a detailed account of what he'd done for most of his adult life, skipping over his adventures: didn't want to reduce profits coming from the other books, now did he?

The roar of the crowd, which seemed to mostly consist of middle-aged housewives and teenage girls, was deafening as they approached the store. The line stretched out the door; they got in line and waited. And waited. And waited. It took nearly an hour to actually get into the store, and Harry was getting a bit annoyed by the crowds of fangirls. Even worse than that, most of them recognized him and started fangirling over him, too. Hiding his annoyance at their attentions, he smiled and nodded and shook hands—no reason to make enemies by rejecting people—and eventually they calmed down and returned their attention to the blond man at the makeshift stage near the center of the main part of the store.

Bored out of his mind, Harry looked for something interesting to read while they waited in line; the book that caught his eye was called "Harry Potter and the Loch Ness Monster". Amused, he pulled it off of the shelf and read through it. The book itself looked like a child's storybook, telling of how Harry had defeated the terrible serpent and saved the inhabitants of a nearby fortress with nothing but a sword and the aid of a phoenix. _"Really, the odds of surviving such a fight, even at my current age, are ridiculously low,"_ he thought to himself. There were two things about the book, however, that caught his eye: the first was the date, which marked the book as having been published in the year of '84; the second was a stamp on the inside cover that read "Skeeter Publishing Co. Stamp of Authenticity: The Truth, The Whole Truth, And Nothing But The Truth!" _"Pure shite."_

"What's that, Harry?" Ginny asked from behind him, before she saw what he was looking at. She looked surprised, especially when he expressed his displeasure at being portrayed in the brash manner the main character tended to express.

"This book is full of it," he said. She looked a bit surprised.

"But I thought—" she started to say.

"The sticker means nothing. I've never used a sword in my life. Plus, just think about it: this 'true story' came out in 1984. Forget slaying sea serpents, it's impressive that I managed to talk in complete sentences." She looked shocked, as if this hadn't occurred to her before. "I apparently had already mastered magic at the age of four, and had already been sorted into Gryffindor," he said, the sarcasm dripping out of his voice. She blushed a bit. "This so called "stamp of authenticity" is nothing more than a hoax used to sell books by slapping my name on it and calling it a true story."

"So all of the books—" she blurted out, before stopping, a blush spreading across her face.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "I take it you have the full set?" he asked amusedly.

"No!" she exclaimed. At his questioning glance, she sighed and said "Yes..." rather quietly

"Was that so hard to admit?" he teased. She gave him a small smile at his prodding, and they shared a small laugh before being interrupted.

"Great Scot! Is that...Harry Potter?" a voice cried out from just behind him. Harry winced at the voice and, turning, groaned when he found Lockhart beaming at him. He was quickly dragged up to the front of the line before he could protest; a man toting a bulky camera took a picture of them, insisting "It's for the Daily Prophet!" in response to the multitude of outcries from people he ran over getting to another angle. He was followed around by a tall, thin woman who wore brightly colored blue robes who was herself being followed by a floating piece of parchment and an acid-green quill that seemed to be writing without her saying anything to it. She looked positively gleeful, which held with what Harry'd heard about her; this was Rita Skeeter, a Slytherin Hogwarts alumni who had a talent for using half-truths and misunderstandings to ruin reputations.

"Yes, yes," Lockhart said grandly, still holding Harry uncomfortably close.. "Young Harry came in here today, intending to purchase my newest book, "Magical Me!". He had no idea that, not only will he be receiving a full set of my books, signed and free of charge—" Here, the obnoxious man dumped a large pile of books into the cauldron Harry was carrying with him, "—he and all of his classmates will be getting the real magical me this coming term. That's right, ladies and gentlemen," he said, raising his voice as the crowd's volume increased. "This year, I have decided to accept the gracious offer extended to me by Professor Dumbledore to teach at his prestigious school in the newly open Defense Against the Dark Arts post." Harry felt his stomach turn a bit as the crowd of middle-aged women swooned and cheered.

Harry managed to tear himself away after a few minutes and returned to Ginny. Dumping the books in her cauldron, he said "I can get my own copies, and you can use them better than I can; we have the same booklist for that class, anyway, so it won't matter that we're a year apart," in response to her questioning look. "Come on, let's go find the rest of the things on our booklists, and anything that catches our eyes: I'm buying, so don't worry about the cost." She smiled and they fled into the stacks behind the pompous man's makeshift stage.

"Well, well, well," a cultured voice drawled from the stairway ahead of them. "What have we here?" Around the corner came Draco Malfoy, Hadrian's Slytherin ally and tentative friend. "Famous Harry Potter: can't even go to a bookstore without making the front page."

"Leave him alone," Ginny said defensively, a hint of steel in her voice.

The blond boy regarded her with a touch of amusement. "What's this, Potter? Got yourself another girlfriend, then? I hope her bite matches her bark, else she'll make little competition for Sable...unless you're building a harem, and she's just going to be number three?" He smirked as her face turned red.

"Perhaps, but I think in that case you'd be even more upset, because no matter where she goes on the list, she'll still bump you down to fourth place," Harry responded with a smirk of his own.

"For the last time, I am not gay!" Malfoy hissed, his composure lost as his pale face turning a shade of pink that Harry had learned to associate with embarrassment.

"Draco, Draco..." Harry said slowly, as if reprimanding a child. "There's no need to be so adamant in your denial, as it only serves to strengthen my belief in its veracity; besides, it's not healthy. I mean, for Merlin's sake, you use more hair gel in the morning than Pansy and Millicent put together, and you always have to rather large men following you around. And let's face it: it's not for their brains, but for their brawn, if you know what I mean," he added with a chuckle. Frowning, he looked around. "Speaking of which, where are the twin wonders?"

"Oh, get stuffed, Harry," he said with a scowl, his face still pink.

"Harry..." Ginny said uncertainly.

"Where are my manners?" the dark-haired snake said smoothly. "Draco, this is Ginny Weasley. Ginny, this is Draco Malfoy, my...ally inside Slytherin House."

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ms. Weasley," Draco said, stepping up and giving a slight bow with his head. "Or would it be Scion Weasley?"

"Scion Weasley," she responded hesitantly. "Until I turn fifteen. And you're Scion Malfoy, right?" He nodded. "Then why should we get along? Shouldn't you hate me on principle?"

"Hating, disliking, or disapproving of anyone on principle is bad; I only hate people who earn it," Draco replied. "For instance, how do you feel about your brother Ronald?"

Ginny scowled. "He's an arse."

Draco smiled. "While I applaud your taste in people, you'll never get into Slytherin with an attitude like that."

"W-what?" she stammered. "I-I don't—"

"Don't want to be a Slytherin?" Harry finished. "That's not a problem, but the bad part is that you don't really get to pick your house unless the Sorting Hat thinks it's a toss up. And I have to agree with Draco: a Slytherin hides their feelings,opinions, and motives. They do so, while trying to figure out everyone else's feelings, opinions, and motives, because they know that such things can be useful tools to use when that person is present to get what you want. They can be used to benefit you, whether building you up, tearing them down, or using them to tear someone else down."

She stared at him, thinking. "Were you thinking like that when you came to my room that first time?" she asked.

"Going into prepubescent girls' rooms, are you, Potter?" Draco said, chuckling.

"Stow it Draco," Harry said, not taking his eyes off of Ginny. He eventually said "I intended to make friends with all of the Weasleys present at the Burrow—with the exception of Ronald—as a matter of principle. That I was presented an opportunity to present you with an offer of friendship after you were embarrassed by your brother for being a Boy-Who-Lived fan...well, when life throws you an opportunity right down the middle, you've got to swing." They both looked at him strangely. "Purebloods," he muttered. "It was the perfect opportunity to do something I'd already planned on doing eventually. If I hadn't, the next week would've been filled with you fan-girling all over the place."

She stared at him some more, going over what he'd said in her mind, before finally offering him a smile. Draco gave out a small sigh. "If you two are done flirting, I need to go find my father. See you on the Express, Hadrian." His eyes lingered on Ginny for a moment. "You, too, Scion Weasley...unless I may call you Ginny?"

"You may, good sir," she said with a giggle. "But only if I may call you Draco." He nodded with a smile. As the blond took his leave, she frowned and turned to Harry. "Who's Sable?" she asked demandingly.

"A friend I made while at Hogwarts," he answered.

"Who couldn't come to the Burrow." Not a question. "Who you haven't met up with here in the alley." Not a question either. "Who Ron's deathly afraid of." And that makes three for three. She glared at him frustratedly for a bit as they made their way deeper into the recesses of the bookstore. After a while, she relented and switched topic on him, asking "Did you have any other motive for befriending me?" in a rather careful manner.

Harry considered the question as he perused the shelves of tomes before him. "At first...perhaps not," he eventually admitted. "As time went on, I considered you for a select group...more than a friend: a confidant."

"What's the difference?' she asked, pulling down one of the books on her list out of the discount section.

"The twins are friends," Harry said. "But I can't trust them too far, as their loyalty is set in each other, as well as to...other sources that I don't want getting the information a confidant might be privy to. Draco, for instance, is a confidant."

She stared at him like he was crazy. "You trust him? Over the twins?" she asked incredulously.

"It's all relative," Harry said, remembering the looks of apprehension he'd noticed at times gracing Draco's face when the blond aristocrat-to-be didn't think he was looking; after the duel with Marcus, or learning of Harry's Animagus form. "Besides," he continued, his voice level, "Draco's a Slytherin, like me. What Slytherins want is power, and they get it through outmaneuvering their opponents in the fight to control the power." He paused for a moment to pull down an interesting book on the magical side of South American rainforests. "And that's why I can trust him. I know I'm the more powerful of the two of us, and I know he knows it...and that he knows I know he knows it."

"He is a sneaky, conniving, self-centered, dishonest man," Harry said, smirking at her expression. "And a dishonest man you can always trust to be dishonest." He grinned as she looked pensive, considering this angle. "It's the honest one's you've got to look out for: you never know when they're going to do something extremely..." He stopped. Up ahead in the row was a pissed off Ronald Weasley with his wand in hand. "Stupid," he finished.

"Don't insult me, Potter," he spat, raising his wand.

"I wasn't," Harry replied. Turning back to Ginny, but watching Ronald out of the corner of his eye. "Here's a perfect example: this fool wears his heart on his sleeve. He has an opinion on everything...and he will tell you what it is, if you stand still long enough to listen. He is the perfect example of a brave, noble, stupid Gryffindor. Charging into every situation without thinking it through."

"I TOLD YOU—" Ron started to yell; Hadrian drew his own wand out of his holster and moved to put himself between Ronald and Ginny. "—NOT TO INSULT ME! INCENDIO!"

"Protego," Harry intoned, a bright red shield absorbing the flames spewing from Ron's wand. "Expelliarmus." Ronald's wand was forced from his hand and scattered onto the floor. Roaring, the enraged redhead charged at him with his fists raised, only to stop in horror when his foot went down and the sound of his shoes hitting the floor was accompanied by a sharp **_'Crack!'_**

Ronald looked down, his face screwed up in fear. "My wand..." he whispered hoarsely. "Look what you did to my wand."

"What HE did?!" Ginny exploded. At Harry's disapproving look, she schooled her face into a mask of disappointment. She continued with less heat: "In case you didn't notice, he just defended the bookstore, me, and himself, while ensuring that you couldn't cause anymore damage. And if you think you're getting away with this, just wait 'til I tell mum about this little fight: it'll be awhile before we go to Hogwarts, and there's always more chores to do. And when she finds out you broke your wand..." she left the threat in the air.

He paled. "You wouldn't tell her, would you?" he whispered, mortified.

"Maybe...maybe not," she answered smugly. "The wand might be salvageable, depending on how badly you crushed it. Spell-o-tape might hold it together just fine. But this fight...well, what mum doesn't know can't hurt her."

Ronald's expression darkened. "This is blackmail," he said.

"Bravo, Weasley! You figured it out!" Harry said, amused with how events were coming to pass.

"Harry, please let me handle this. Now, unless you want to be working from now to September with no dessert, you'll do whatever I tell you to until we get to school."

The ginger prick turned red, snarled a bit under his breath, before finally spitting out "Fine." Picking up the two halves of his wand, still held together by a single strand of what looked like unicorn hair, he stalked off into the bookshelves. Ginny turned towards Hadrian with a hopeful look on her face. He gave her a brief small smile before continuing to make his way down the aisle of books. She followed, and they continued talking until they eventually went full circle and found themselves at the front once more. Spotting Rita Skeeter making her way through the crowd, Hadrian excused himself and made his way over to her.

She must have seen him: "Hello, Mr. Potter! Care to give me a statement about what you think about Mr. Lockhart's announcement?" she asked with a wicked smile.

He smiled back at her, although his smile matched hers in its sincerity. "Good afternoon, Ms. Skeeter. Unfortunately, I am unavailable for comment at the moment, on account of the pressing need to shop for school supplies at the moment. However, if you're willing, we can meet tonight at the Leaky Cauldron and discuss...things...over a small meal?"

"Oh, that would be lovely, Mr. Potter," she replied. "Perhaps even an interview? No one's been able to talk with you before...none of the media, at least. It would be an excellent opportunity to properly introduce the wizarding community to you; they could find out what you're really like, rather than just going on what stories and rumors have built you into."

"That would be most useful Ms. Skeeter. I'll see you tonight, then?"

"Of course, Mr. Potter," Rita said. "And please, call me Rita."

"Only if you call me Hadrian—at least in private; it might be best if you refer to me in writing as Lord Potter, my true title. Wouldn't want to give people any reason to suggest that we are more...familiar with each other than we are, don't you agree?" His smile widened a fraction at the sight of her face paling a bit at his statement.

"O-of course, Lord Potter," she said shakily. "Have a good day." She walked away quickly, glancing over her shoulder a few times in his direction. Smiling a little evilly, he walked back over towards Ginny, thinking about the interview to come, when he saw that Ginny was standing with Mrs. Weasley and the rest of the Weasleys, including a glowering Ron, although Mrs. Weasley didn't seem to have noticed.

"Hello, dear," Mrs. Weasley said when she saw him. "We've got everyone else's books for school, so on to the next shop."

"Actually, Mrs. Weasley, I've completed my shopping. If you don't mind, I'll floo back to the Burrow and get started on lunch." Getting no real objections, other than a brief tightening of Mrs. Weasley's lips, he smiled and bid them goodbye before heading for the Leaky Cauldron. He made his way in, and returned to the Burrow. Putting away his things inside his locked and warded trunk, he went down to the kitchen to begin preparing lunch as he'd said he would.

* * *

Later than night, a tall shadowy figure appeared silently in front of the entrance to Knockturn Alley; it glanced around quickly before making its way down the dark street. It seemed to glide over the stones as it moved, its advance as silent as a ghost. The thin crowd, in those few places that people were out on the streets at this time of night, parted before it, likely because of the feelings of fear and terror the being was exuding. Reaching its destination, the thing entered a small shop called "Borgin and Burkes", taking the nightmares its presence evoked in people with it. Murmurs of Expecto Patronum, whispers of Dementors, and the sound of chocolate being broken into pieces spread through the crowd in a wave; as they dispersed, all became silent.

Meanwhile, inside of "Borgin and Burkes", the being was looking around the dark store in interest. The shop was so different now: a necklace containing a dark spirit, several skulls that still carried a hint of their previous owners' souls, a sword glowing a dark gray that called out to his spirit...just about every item in the store called out to him in some way or another. But he was only here for a few items.

The being slowly shrunk down into the form of one Hadrian Potter, who had only disguised himself to avoid another unpleasant encounter within the alley. Drawing up his hood and cast a quick Notice-me-not on his face with his free hand, he rung the bell on the counter. Extending his aura a bit as the owner of the store rushed out to greet his customer,his efforts were rewarded by the man taking an involuntary step back when he saw him. Finding his voice, the man said "H-how can I h-help you, Mr., er..."

"My name is unimportant," Harry said in a smooth tone, lowering his voice to a pitch he didn't normally speak at to disguise his voice. "I am here to purchase a few items for...Tom Riddle," he said. According to his research, Tom had gotten a job here after leaving Hogwarts; he was counting on the old man running the store to be in the know about the Dark Lord's true identity.

Sure enough, the old man paled, grimacing at the mention of his old employee. "But I thought he was dead! Killed by the Potter boy."

"Perhaps. Even if it were true, he did not truly die, and has been in hiding for over a decade now. You heard about the break-in at Gringotts last summer?"

"Of course I did. It was in the Prophet, who hasn't heard about it?" Borgin replied.

"One of his servants penetrated the goblins' defenses and would have made off with Flamel's legendary stone, had it's vault not been emptied a mere hour before they arrived. It was hidden at Hogwarts, under Dumbledore's watchful eyes. It took the whole year, but it has been retrieved, and now my lord is simply waiting for the winter solstice to return to life."

Borgin eyed him shrewdly. "Your lord? You seem a mite young to bear the mark."

"Should you ask the denizens that fill this alley, they will tell you they saw a Dementor enter your shop. I assure you that I am neither a dementor nor a child, but such disguises are necessary to throw off my pursuers. Incidentally, we must hurry this transaction up a bit, or the undercover Auror hiding behind the bar three doors doors down will have time to call in reinforcements to bring in the rogue Dementor," Harry said carefully. The bit about the Auror wasn't a lie: he spotted the man, who had immediately run off in the direction of Diagon, presumably to get some assistance in subduing a "Dementor", so they did have to speed things up a bit.

Borgin nodded, before asking "What do you need?"

Harry thought for a moment, feeling around for the items that gave him the strongest feelings. "The eye, the Hand of Glory, and the sacrificial dagger," he said, gesturing to the items as he spoke; he thought the list was long enough to warrant a visit by someone of his obvious power, but not so long as to seem greedy or suspicious. Borgin nodded and fetched the items in question.

As he came back over to Harry, he said "Be careful about the eye: it's called the Eye of Vecna, and is a very powerful divination tool...if it doesn't drive you insane. I assume that this will be charged to his usual account?" he asked.

Harry nodded. "Your assistance is appreciated. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must be going." Turning, he made his way out of the shop, transforming back into his Reaper form as he crossed the threshold, putting down his purchases beforehand so they wouldn't be melded into his form: no reason to tempt fate with such dark items, especially the eye.

Seeing a small group of approaching Aurors with a pair of Patroni up front—a mule and an eagle—Harry concentrated and shadow-travelled temporarily back to the Burrow to put away his new items before going to the muggle-side entrance to the Leaky Cauldron. He transformed back (he was getting quite tired, as so many transformations in such a little time was rather taxing for him) and entered the pub, which was about as crowded as usual. He spotted Rita waiting up at the bar, looking around anxiously. He moved up behind her and said "Evening, Ms. Skeeter. I assume you're looking for me?"

She spun on the seat, a plastic smile plastered across her face to hide her surprise. "Hadrian! So good to see you!" She looked around conspiratorially. "I have to say," she said in a low tone, practically whispering "I wasn't sure if...certain people would allow you to come."

"My dear Rita, who says that anyone has any say in whether I could come here or not?" Hadrian asked, taking a seat at her table. She cast what he recognized as a silencing spell over and around their table, before pulling out her quill and parchment, which floated into the air. She stared at him as if examining him, a small smile crossing her face.

"So, Hadrian," she said. "You wanted to talk to me. What's on your mind?"

"Well, as I wasn't raised in the magical world, I wasn't sure how things were done here," he said. "I've spent a year learning about how things work in the Wizarding world, and am now ready to prepare for the future. To start, as I'm sure you're aware, I've been petitioning the Wizengamot to give Lord Black a trial for the crimes he's been imprisoned for." The look on her face indicated she was not aware of this. "I'm also looking into how certain people have been using my name and image, without my knowledge or approval, to make a profit by selling supposedly true stories of my fictional exploits. These stories have given the public a false image of me, and I want to ensure that people get to know the real me, rather than a false image created to make money." Rita was still smiling, although she looked a little pale.

"Of course, as a minor, I couldn't do much, especially since I knew nothing of the magical world. Now, of course, I'm Lord Potter, and will be able to sit the Wizengamot in a few years. I could very well ruin those responsible...unless it became profitable to let them off with, I don't know, simply having to give me a cut of the profits, maybe a favor or two..." he trailed off, enjoying the now obvious fear evident in her features. "These two issues are both rather important, and I think you'd be able to help me with both of them. Tonight, even. If it makes a difference, if we can cooperate tonight, we'll have a working relationship, and I can promise you the story of a lifetime." He shifted in his seat to get comfortable. "Let's get to it, shall we?" he asked, smirking. She gave him a weak smile, before settling into her own seat, her position in this relationship having been made clear.

They talked long into the night, and soon Rita relaxed enough to start trusting him again—a big mistake. By the end of the night, she had a story worth a fortune, and he'd gained a political pawn, as well a goldmine of information and dirt on various people; she was quite loose-lipped when she got a bit tipsy. He watched her leave, before making his way back out into Muggle London. Finding an alley to duck into, he shadow-travelled back to the Burrow, making his way undetected back to the twins' room. He quickly prepared for bed: he'd had a long day, and was looking forward to getting some sleep. Laying down, and hoping for no prophetic dreams, he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

A.N.: Well there you have it! Another long chapter, filled with a birthday party, shopping, blackmail, a strange being, and magical lawyers. I think that's enough for one chapter.

Next chapter should include the trip to Hogwarts, a recap of the aftermath of Hadrian's discussion with Rita, and maybe a class or two. Also: yes, the eye is an artifact belonging to the same D&D deity I've named myself after. He's an evil god of secrets and magic, for those of you too lazy to go look it up.

Please read and review! AV out.


	4. Newsworthy Events

Hello, and welcome back to Hadrian Potter: Darkness Returns! So...you remember how I said I would be updating more often/quickly? How I was going to be focusing a getting out a new chapter every few weeks? It turns out I'm a dirty rotten liar. It doesn't help that this chapter felt like a whole lot of filler: you all probably knew this stuff was going to happen, but I still needed to type it out. Anyway, please R&R!

Shoutouts:

Trekke1 and alix33, who have been serving as my official and unofficial betas, respectively.

Man of Constant Sorrow, for his praiseful PM. Unfortunately, due to my personal distaste for such shameless self-promotion, I will not be post this PM, as it is too lengthly for me to add to my story without it looking like shameless word length extension.

To all those who caught it, yes, I really did slip in a Yu-Gi-Oh reference and a PotC reference. I feel that including elements of other stories in my fic allows me to use them if they could improve the plot. This fic will never be a true crossover with anything except possibly D&D. But that doesn't come until later.

To all my other readers/reviewers, thank you! I love getting feedback on my stories and watching the view count rise! It makes me feel better about myself and the time I spend thinking up and typing out each chapter. Please read and review!

* * *

Chapter 4: Newsworthy Events

—_September 1, 1992—_

Hadrian Potter was making his way through Kings Cross Station for the third time. He was accompanied by the Weasley parents, those of their children going to Hogwarts this year, and Luna; the odd girl has been discovered about an hour by a tired Mrs. Weasley on the Weasleys' front porch sitting on her truck and softly humming "Beneath the Scotsman's Kilt". Harry wasn't very happy, as it was 10:53 am. The Weasleys had gotten up at their usual time, and of course, Harry had been the only person to pack all his stuff the night before so he wouldn't be rushing around at the last minute trying to find all his stuff. After a quick breakfast, and the mad scramble to pack, they had all piled into the flying Ford Anglia and set off to Kings Cross; at the time, Harry had marveled at the fact that, in the rush to find everything, nothing had been forgotten.

Of course, it turned out that, not only had things been forgotten, but one trip back wasn't enough to jog everyone's memories, because they ended up turning around and returning to the Burrow for something or other some three or four times. It was a quarter 'til by the time they actually reached the train station, and hurrying through the crowds wasn't exactly an option in such a crowded place—although being such a large group did help in that regard.

The rest of their little group wasn't so happy go lucky either; the summer had ended on a sour note between Harry and Mrs. Weasley, and the rest of the Weasleys weren't helping matters. A few days after their little excursion to Diagon Alley, the Daily Prophet had arrived, sparking an argument between him and the Weasley matriarch. Skeeter's article contained an interview with Harry, the first ever, and Rita's subsequent research into a few of his claims. A little misdirection and a few half-truths and the public would be taking his side. As a bonus, it had given him a reason to distance himself from Mrs. Weasley, making it that much easier to avoid her tainted food.

With a few minutes to spare, they finally arrived at platforms nine and ten. Percy rushed through first, muttering something about prefects and tardiness, and was quickly followed by the twins. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley went through next, which seemed a bit irresponsible to Harry, considering how dangerous train stations could be for children. Luna and Ginny went through together, and were closely followed by Ron.

Who slammed into the barrier and fell down with a clatter. Harry rolled his eyes. "Damn it, Potter!" Ron groaned, slowly picking himself up. "What'd you do that for?"

Hadrian narrowed his eyes at the ginger. "I didn't do anything Weasley. We just took so long getting to the station that the barrier closed before we could get through. Look: it's already eleven." He pointed to a nearby clock, which sure enough, began chiming.

Ron looked at it, his face screwed up in concentration. Suddenly, his face lit up, and he continued gathering his fallen things in earnest. "If I can't take the train, I'll just go by car!" Harry sighed at Weasley's suggested plan: take the flying car? Ignoring the fact that it would be easily seen by muggles (according to Mr. Weasley, the flight function was fine, but the invisibility button was on the fritz, explaining why they'd driven to Kings Cross), wouldn't his parents come back for the car? _"Besides,"_ Harry thought, _"this can't be the only time someone's missed the train; there's probably another way in. Even if there isn't, I could always shadow-travel."_ This plan of action suited Harry just fine. As he made his way towards the nearest loo—wouldn't want to disappear in broad daylight, now would he—he noticed that Ron was already gone. Shrugging, he made his way in and quickly traveled through the shadows directly onto the train.

As he felt the scarlet engine begin to pull the train towards Hogwarts, he made his way to their usual compartment. Sure enough, he found Hermione and Draco waiting there, both of them busy reading. He put away his trunk after retrieving one of his new books and settled into the seat, reading. Cheshire appeared out of thin air, wrapping himself around Harry's shoulders, as he usually did. Harry wasn't too worried about Hedwig, who he had released at the Burrow to fly to Hogwarts; she could find her own way there, she'd done it before.

After a few minutes of reading, the door opened to admit Ginny and the twins. The three of them froze at the sight of Harry sitting there. "How did you beat us here, mate?" Fred asked incredulously.

"Yeah, we were looking for you, but you never came through the barrier," George added.

"It shut off before I could make it through," Harry said in answer, "So I took an...alternate route." Draco gave a small smirk at this, but said nothing. Shrugging, and receiving no further explanation from Harry, the twins hauled their trunks up to the overhead baggage areas before helping Ginny with hers. Luna arrived, apparently having taken her time to arrive, and while the twins put her trunk with the others, she sat down next to Harry so as to have a staring contest with Cheshire. As the others watched, Cheshire very slowly, deliberately blinked before traipsing from Harry's shoulders onto Luna's, to his surprise. Luna gave an odd half-smile and looked around, seemingly (but most assuredly not) oblivious of the incredulous looks she was receiving; Cheshire never behaved for anyone but Harry. While this was going on, the small compartment had expanded to give everyone plenty of space.

Sitting down, George looked at his twin with a twinkle in his eye. "So," George said casually.

"Who's interested—" Fred said.

"—in a friendly game of—" George continued, drawing a deck of cards from his sleeve.

"—Exploding Snap!" the finished together with twin grins. Ginny smiled, as did Draco, while Hermione grimaced; she didn't enjoy the game very much, but she still put her book down and scooted over to join them. Harry shrugged and put away his book as well, willing to go through with a game or two. George began dealing, and it was obvious that he had a bit of dexterous skill, if his speedy techniques were any indication.

Exploding Snap was a rather odd card game that could be played with what appeared to be a normal deck of playing cards; the manufacturers had included a spell written on the box that would disable the more violent nature of the deck, allowing for normal card games to be played with it. The game started with the dealer (initially, the youngest player) drawing three cards at random from the deck, which always had 54 cards (13 cards per suit, with four suits total, and the two jokers). The cards were then shuffled and dealt out one at a time to each player, including the dealer, in turn until no cards remained. The three cards drawn prior to shuffling are set aside and not looked at until the game is over.

There are no turns in Exploding Snap, only rounds, totaling seven in all, unless the game ends early. Each player can place down a pair (or a trio or quartet if they have one) of matching cards to get points; all players may do this if they can, but they do not have to. It is recommended that they do, because pairs place down in the first round are worth the most points: 13. Every round after the first, the number of points received decreases by one. If you had a trio, it was worth 17; a quartet, 23, with all three possibilities decreasing at the same rate of one point per round. The jokers, having only one possible combination, were worth 29 points, but their value decreased at a rate of two per round. Once everyone had placed down their cards, they can move onto the important part of the game: the passing round.

At the end of every round, each player would pass a number of cards to the player on their left equal to the number of rounds that had been played. This is the tricky bit, and involves why the game is called Exploding Snap: if you're holding a card without at least a pair (for instance, if you're holding the queen of clubs, and someone placed down the other three queens), then the card would explode unless passed on. This gets tricky when you remember that there are three card types that there's only three of. If you don't have enough cards to pass on, you pass on your whole hand; there is no point penalty for doing so.

The game is over when every player is out. There are three ways a player can be declared out. The first way is if they run out of cards. Any cards that would have been passed to them are instead passed to the next player down. The second way is if the player defaults: the player lays down their hand and awards themselves one point for every card in their hand. This particular strategy is nearly useless in a game with many players, but is usually surprisingly effective in team matches. The third possibility is card death: if you fail to pass three pair-less cards on the same turn, you entire hand will go up in flames and you are out; you receive no points for the cards in your hand. Alternatively, the game is over after seven rounds and six passing rounds have gone by (the seventh passing round is unnecessary, as it is no longer possible to default or place down pairs, trios, and quartets).

After nearly an hour of play, Harry and Hermione were both done playing: they had suffered card death at least three times each, and in one particular game, had both gone through it at the same time. Begging off additional games, they retrieved their respective reading materials as the others continued playing and retreated the meter or so to the other side of the expanded compartment. Well, Hermione at least; Hadrian was busy noting how the others had fared in the explosion, while thinking of how they'd played. He and Hermione had been playing fairly, she because of moral integrity, he because he wished to return to his book, as he'd been in the middle of an interesting idea. Fortunately for them, the game, despite the number of explosions involved was designed to be completely safe, so they were left unharmed.

Draco, as usual, had been attempting to subtly cheat his way into the lead, and had done well early on, but gradually declined as his cheating became more and more blatant. The twins had also been cheating the entire game, although they had been intentionally obvious about it, joking about how lucky they'd get at times or, when a card erupted in their faces before they could pass it on, they each chastised the other for messing up; their banter served to lighten up the game, dulling the more competitive edges in the group and reminding them that it was just a game.

This did not, however, excuse the fact that Luna, despite not appearing to cheat at all, never once had a card blow up while she held it, even during the fireball that had claimed both his and Hermione's hands. She had won more hands than anyone else, although she wasn't too far ahead of anyone; Harry considered that she might be cheating using some sort of familial divination power, but dismissed this as any such gift, even if she had one, was unlikely to be at her beck and call.

Harry picked up where he'd left off: he was reading about some basic wandless casting theory and seeing how it compared to his experiences. Several minutes passed in this manner, with the Weasleys, Luna, and Draco continuing to play Exploding Snap in the background. Harry found himself relaxing into the seat; he couldn't seem to concentrate on the book in front of him. He was too busy thinking about the recent events regarding Mrs. Weasley.

—_Flashback—_

—_August 11, 1992—_

_It was a more or less normal morning at the Burrow: breakfast was being served, Ron was whining about how much work Ginny was making him do (discreetly), the twins were discussing pranks in whispered voices, and Harry was drinking a small dose of Amortentia antidote. For once, Arthur was home in the morning—it didn't happen too often—and Percy had come out of his room to scarf down some food before returning to his work._

_Somehow, it turned out that everyone was present for the arrival of the _Daily Prophet_. As Mrs. Weasley paid for the paper, she shrieked at the sight of the title; the post owl, having received its payment, beat wing out of there like it was being chased by demons. The loud piercing sound had not gone unnoticed by the human inhabitants: everyone looked up at her. She glared back at them and began to read the paper out loud. Harry resisted the urge to smirk when he saw the title:_

EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW WITH LORD POTTER!

HAS THE MINISTRY MUCKED UP?

by Rita Skeeter

As mentioned in the previous issue of _The Daily Prophet,_ there was so much newsworthy material collected after the announcement of employment by Gilderoy Lockhart, this reporter managed to find Lord Harry Potter in the crowd and set up an interview. No, the title is not a misprint fair readers; the law allows our young savior to take his rightful place in our world, and he bore his house ring with pride. While the interview took place that very night, it is only being released now because this reporter wished to do the necessary research into a few more controversial topics that were discussed that night. I would remind you, my dear readers, that the Boy-Who-Lived has never before been interviewed by the media and, as a matter of fact, has never been seen prior to his arrival in Diagon Alley the summer before his first year. Where was he? What did he do? The truth has been revealed to me, fair readers, and it is not pretty.

I met the young Lord in the Leaky Cauldron at approximately 10:23 pm three nights ago; I almost didn't recognize him, as he appeared to have taken pains to disguise himself from the boisterous rabble present that night. He seemed a quiet lad when I first saw him, but don't mistake that to mean he seemed shy—indeed, he almost exuded confidence to the point that full grown adults were moving out of his way, despite having no idea who he was. I will say that he came across as a bit withdrawn, like he was hiding behind a mask during our little meeting; it took a great deal of the skill I've gained over many years of talking to uncomfortable sources of information to discern any emotion in the young Lord Potter at all. As a matter of courtesy, he treated me to dinner before we got down to business. We talked over the meal; we talked of his childhood, what he knows of the Wizarding World, what he thinks of it, and his opinion of our world's leadership.

The first issue I attempted to discuss was his childhood: where was he for the ten years following that night? What did he do? These questions needed answering. Many readers will remember a certain book series detailing young Mr. Potter's adventures as a child; these books were marked with the Skeeter Publishing Co. Stamp of Authenticity, a sign of veracity accepted throughout the Wizarding World. It shames me to admit that not only were most of these stories shown to be incorrect, but that Lord Potter was aware of them, and of their false nature. He pointed out that the date on most of these stories would have had him as a young toddler for most of his adventures, and that no child could have accomplished some of the deeds in the books. He also pointed out that in this book series, he has been sorted into Gryffindor, a very different outcome from the reality: Lord Hadrian Potter is a Slytherin.

Fortunately, he assured me that he does not hold Skeeter Publishing Co. responsible for being fooled by those that wrote these books. These companies, in turn, are being contacted by barristers recently hired by Lord Potter, who is threatening to sue the companies in question unless they meet certain requirements set down by him: namely, that they admit their stories to be fiction and cease attempting to fool the public otherwise, and of course a share of the profits made on his name without the permission of either him or his guardians.

I endeavored that night to learn about how our savior had truly grown up. It is well known that he was spirited away by Dumbledore to who knows where; it is less well known that Dumbledore sealed the Potter will and Mr. Potter's guardian's identity away from the majority of the Wizarding World, to prevent less scrupulous individuals from attempting to kidnap him or do him or his guardians harm. The esteemed Headmaster of Hogwarts is known to have witnessed the will reading, and presumably carried out its instructions.

When questioned on his childhood, Lord Potter had little to say, insisting "the past was best left in the past". Nevertheless, this reporter was able to squeeze some information out of him. Mr. Potter insisted that he'd had no contact with the Wizarding World prior to last summer; he did say that on more than one occasion a complete stranger would walk up and thank him, or shake his hand, before disappearing once more. Both he and I agreed that these people were probably wizards or witches taking a sojourn into the muggle world and managed to spot the young Boy-Who-Lived.

The only other point of interest, and what would turn out to be the most damning statement I collected that night was "I'm muggle-raised and have the scars to prove it." Some of our more traditionally-inclined readers might jump to the conclusion that he was abused by his muggle guardians: I myself did the same thing, before conceding the fact that muggles, having no access to magical healing, would likely heal injuries naturally, resulting in scars. Deciding not to make any more assumptions about Lord Potter, I made myself a note to investigate this particular tidbit at a later time.

Moving on, I asked him what he thought of the Wizarding World; its traditions, economy, social programs, and education. The young lord was surprisingly knowledgeable on these subjects—but then, you'd expect a Slytherin to look at all his options before making his stance known. Lord Potter has taken a more involved role in his financial estate, although because of his relative inexperience, he has had members of the Gringotts legal department keeping an eye on his family's various investments and businesses. When asked why he was working so closely with the goblins, he said "The goblins as a race view everything as a competition. By linking my profit to that of a team of goblins, I have virtually ensured that my fortunes will only grow-and that those who would take advantage of me financially are dissuaded from such ideas." The young lord also said that such a deal would only go south if "some idiot broke a treaty with the bank and started another Goblin rebellion."

Lord Potter's political views were difficult to discern; the young man said that, while he had little experience with other Lords and Ladies, he was able to get a good feel for their political views by observing their children: "The mask that a politician, whether an elected official like the Minister, a Department Head, or a House Lord, puts on while out in public comes off when they go home. They feel safe in the comfort of their own homes, even if they're not particularly politically active. What they really think of the world comes out for their family to see. One thing I've figured out is that, while kids may not listen to their parents, they do watch them. A politician's child sees how they act at home, and that's how they learn their political values: by watching how their parents act when they think no one's looking."

When asked his opinion on the Ministry and how its running the country, Lord Potter said "Minister Fudge is a man who listens to the public and works to get them what they want. This is the attitude necessary in a peacetime Minister; whether we are in a time of peace or not depends on your point of view. Crime is still rather abundant, and many criminal elements with past ties to You-Know-Who* are still in operation in Diagon Alley. That being said, the current political climate is almost pointless, considering the timing."

"Several families were attacked during the Wizarding Civil War by You-Know-Who's* forces; several such families had only a handful of members left, and most of them toddlers at the time. This removed a large number of people from the Wizengamot, allowing for others to control the Wizarding World's law-making body. By the time my generation joins them, we will make up roughly 40% of the Wizengamot; we will be a force to be reckoned with, and most of us hold a grudge against You-Know-Who* and his followers. When the time comes, the Wizarding World is going to change."

I would point out that the main point of tension between You-Know-Who and the rest of the Wizarding World is the continued tolerance of muggles and muggleborns being a part of our world; that, and the fact that such muggleborns usually try to change our world to be more like the one they grew up in, an idea opposed by the more traditionalist factions. When asked his opinion on this debate, Lord Potter had this to say: "Magic is magic. Muggleborns should be allowed to learn how to control their power before they accidentally reveal it to the world."

"Most of the traditions in the Wizarding World have good reasoning behind them, but because no one tries to explain why something is beyond saying that it's always been that way, muggleborns continually try to modernize our world. There's nothing wrong with that either: muggles have made some useful advances over the past hundred years, and there's several ways we could help each other out. However, most of us aren't comfortable with change that big, and would only accept such a thing if it happened gradually. I understand that sometime during the late 1800s, a wizarding customs and traditions class was taken out of the Hogwarts curriculum; if such a class existed today, I'm sure that a number of misunderstandings could've been nipped in the bud."

"This was really one of the problems with You-Know-Who's* plan: after conquering the Wizarding World, he would attack the muggle world, sure that he would succeed. Muggles have advanced quite far in combat: they've had more significant wars in the past century than we've had in the past five. If the Wizarding world was revealed by You-Know-Who, or someone else who acted hostile towards muggles, I can virtually guarantee you that we would be wiped out. Muggles have grown more tolerant of difference as a whole, but if push comes to shove, they won't mess around."

Moving on, I asked about his experiences at Hogwarts and with the education system. He seemed to approve of the instructors on all accounts, saying that the professors were fair to those who treated their subjects with the appropriate caution; this is likely a defense of Professor Snape, the Potions instructor and Head of Slytherin house at Hogwarts, who many have cited as being short-tempered and overly critical of his students' efforts in an area of study he has mastered.

As our little chat was finishing up, I asked what he intended to do as Lord Potter. He responded with a list of vague economic and political goals—and one rather controversial issue. "I intend to get a trial for Sirius Black." As I think we're all aware, Sirius Black is in Azkaban for betraying the Potters to Voldemort and for the murder of one wizard, Peter Pettigrew, and 13 muggles. While this reporter was unaware if Black received a trial or not, the evidence Lord Potter provided is fairly damning. When asked about this, Potter said "While I would hope that it turns out he's innocent, in the likely event that he's not I want to find out why he betrayed my parents: by all accounts, he and my father were about as close as people could be." He said that he's already put in a request to the Ministry for Black to be given a trial, but it has been denied on the grounds that Black is more cognitively aware than most prisoners of Azkaban and might escape; such a situation would be disastrous should he be guilty.

According to Mr. Potter, one of the more shocking turns is that the Wizengamot sent the Lord of a Most Ancient and Noble House to Azkaban without a trial. "It could easily have been one of them, and they still condemn him. And if they're willing to send someone of his stature to the Dementors without a trial, what will they do with less politically influential figures? Justice must be carried out for everyone, and Sirius Black has been neglected in this regard." Lord Potter went on to say that, should the man be proven guilty, then he would be the first to call for proper punishment. Mr. Potter has once again employed legal assistance into building a case strong enough to get Sirius Black before a court, this time a little-known legal services company, Abbott & Tonks. One of the founders and head barristers in the company is Andromeda Tonks nee Black, who was cast out of her family for marrying those they disapproved of; Mr. Potter insists that having someone who went against the family values that supported the crimes that Mr. Black was imprisoned for would be unwilling to give him a trial unless they were sure he was innocent.

Our meeting done, Lord Potter disappeared into the night. It was time for me to do some research. The issue with Mr. Black was easy to determine: the Ministry has no record of Sirius Black being tried or sentenced for the crimes he is believed to commit. Mrs. Tonks was indeed cast out of the Black family for marrying a muggleborn, Theodore Tonks. Abbott & Tonks is working alongside the Gringotts legal team on Mr. Potter's behalf to keep an eye on his family's estate. Further research into Mr. Potter himself reveals that he was the top in his class last year, receiving close to top marks in all of his classes.

Further revealing Lord Potter's ability, at the end of the last year's term, he was attacked by a number of seventh year students in an abandoned hall. It is understood that Mr. Potter not only held his own for the several minutes it took for anyone to find him, but managed to partially resist the effects of a Cruciatus Curse cast by one of his attackers. Professor Dumbledore arrived in time to witness the resulting blast and clean up the aftermath of Potter's battle. Our readers may remember the sealed trials at the beginning of the summer held for a number of recently graduated children; I suppose we now know what they were for.

My research into Harry Potter's place of residence is a long tale that I won't bore you with; let it suffice to say that, through methods I am unwilling to divulge, I managed to find that Mr. Potter was living with his late mother's muggle relatives. Finding their home, I sought to ask them about his home life. What I discovered was shocking to say the least. Before I continue, I would like to point out, fair readers, that according to most muggleborns and muggle experts, our non-magical counterparts are well past the rhabdophobia that resulted in the need for the Statute of Secrecy; the muggles of today would probably be rather accepting of magic so long as those capable of it didn't come across as hostile. That being said, some muggles still operate under this archaic mentality.

Upon arriving at the home of Harry Potter's relatives, the door was opened by a rather skinny woman with too much neck. The fake smile plastered on her face fell as she saw how I was dressed. When I asked if this was where Harry Potter resided, she responded with, and I quote, "That freak left earlier in the summer, and if he ever spoke a word of truth in his God-forsaken life, he won't be returning...ever! Now get off my property, you witch, before the neighbors see you!" With that, she slammed the door in my face. I returned later, hoping to talk to the hopefully more levelheaded patriarch; it was in vain.

I returned as a large, rumbling metal monstrosity rolled into an area of flat, grey ground next to the house. As it became silent, an impossibly large man seemed to pour out of it; this man's girth seemed to be in competition with his height—and I think it was winning. Upon asking about Mr. Potter's time in his home, the man proceeded to insult both myself and Mr. Potter with such language as "freak", "Godless heathen" "devil worshiper", and "witchy bitch"; the last one was only directed at me, but it still bears mention. I decided to take my leave after he threatened me with a large blunt object he called a "cricket bat".

I would remind my readers that it is illegal to arrest someone, even a muggle, on charges of child abuse without significant proof. Lord Potter could come forward with memories as proof of such abuse, but until that happens, it would be illegal to arrest and try them for such a crime. Furthermore, tracking down muggles with the intent to do harm is also illegal; using any form of magic on muggles without their permission is illegal unless they're being arrested. Hopefully, the one thing these muggles got right is that Harry Potter will not be returning to that house.

The question that plagues me now is, what was Dumbledore thinking, placing him with these people? Unfortunately, it appears that there was no other option: the Potter will, which would have dictated where Harry Potter should go after his parents' death was sealed by the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot the day after their murder—I don't think I need to remind you that the Chief Warlock is Dumbledore. He then awarded himself guardianship of the infant saviour, to keep him from being adopted by those servants of You-Know-Who that escaped the justice system unscathed. At the time, this was a reasonable course of action, but now? I would go so far as to question whether Lord Potter would have been better off growing up with such pureblood families; at least he'd be more knowledgeable of our customs and traditions. Unfortunately, Dumbledore was not available for comment at this time; if possible, I will be having an interview with him at a later time this year. This is Rita Skeeter, signing off.

*: It should be noted that, wherever this symbol appears, it is a sign that Lord Potter used the actual name of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named rather than any sort of moniker, with the exception of one occurrence, where he instead said "Tommy Boy". He refused to explain this name, and my research has turned up nothing. Will report more as it is discovered.

_By the end of the article, Mrs. Weasley was practically shaking with rage. She turned to him and said in a whispered hiss "How dare you sully Dumbledore's name! The man is the greatest wizard of our time; and after all he's done for you—"_

"_I wish to point out two things wrong with what you've just said," Hadrian interrupted. "First, he's done more to me than for me: who I am is a result of how I grew up in the house he placed me in. Second, I never said anything against Dumbledore, either in the article, or at the interview it's based on. That's all Rita Skeeter." The look on her face, and that of the Weasley family, showed how shocked she was at being halted mid-rant. The twins and Ginny seemed a little awed, while Ronald was just confused. Percy had a blank look plastered on his face, making it difficult to see what he really felt._

_Arthur, had anyone been looking at him, was puzzled. On one hand, he did support Dumbledore: his children were only able to go to Hogwarts because of a few special scholarships offered to them by Albus. His wife was a devout believer in the man's integrity, and Arthur himself had always known Dumbledore to be a kind soul, looking out for and protecting the children (and occasionally the adults) of the Wizarding World. On the other hand...the article wasn't saying Dumbledore did it on purpose, and Harry didn't seem to blame him; he just didn't trust the man as much as Molly did. That wasn't surprising, given Dumbledore's mistake. Besides, Harry was a very polite young man; he'd helped Ginny get over her little crush very quickly and without making her feel bad or embarrassed about it, he got along with the twins and helped keep them in line; even Percy approved of him, and he was usually quick to dismiss those younger than himself._

_His wife wouldn't be so easily daunted by some little speech. Shaking her head, as if to throw off the bad feelings she was getting, Mrs. Weasley continued as if he'd said nothing, saying "You will write an apology to the Prophet and its audience retracting these blasphemous statements. Dumbledore sending you to child abusers...Sirius Black innocent...why, next you'll be saying that Lily Potter was a pureblood! These things you've said...it makes it sound like you support You-Know-Who! You're going down a dark path, Harry; please, let me help you." Arthur frowned at this: Harry, dark? Well, perhaps a bit, he admitted, but he wasn't evil, and certainly no You-Know-Who supporter._

"_I will not write any such letter: everything I spoke was the truth. Besides, I said neither of those things; Rita didn't even say them, only implied them. I would never side with the man who murdered my parents, and Dark is a rather broad adjective with over-exaggerated, negative connotations." Hadrian paused, staring her down. The look in his eyes was giving her chills, although she'd never admit it. "I would remind you, ma'am, that I am your guest, not your son; as such, you can't tell me what to do. If you'd rather I not be here_—_if my presence is causing a disturbance_—_I'll take my leave." He made to get up._

"_There's no need for that, Harry," Arthur spoke up, looking nervously between his wife and the young man. "It's just a little misunderstanding; a clash of beliefs. You can stay if you wish." He didn't want to go against her like this so obviously, but this was ridiculous! He didn't like upsetting her, but this time, he just couldn't bring himself to support her._

"_I don't wish to cause trouble..." Harry trailed off._

"_Nonsense," the twins cried out together. Arthur smiled at his sons supporting their friend._

"_You can't leave!" Fred cried, clutching his clone. Their terrified faces as they clung to each other focused his attention on them._

"_Yeah!" George said. "If you leave, then who_—"

"—_will protect us—"_

"—_from little—"_

"—_Gin Gin?" the finished in harmony. Their father chuckled; scared of their sister? Smart._

_Their mother gave them a scolding look, and they retreated. "Arthur..." she said imploringly. Arthur almost faltered; she seemed so...no, he wouldn't throw Harry out over a small disagreement._

"_No, Molly. We're not forcing him out," the Weasley patriarch said firmly. "He can stay if he wants to." Molly's look faltered; she had expected her husband to cave easily like he usually did. Still, she acquiesced: she could fix the situation later._

_Ron grumbled at this, as did Molly, but she backed down. As everyone settled down (though Molly kept shooting Harry bad looks), Arthur felt good: he'd made the right decision, even though he knew he'd be paying for it later. Catching Harry's eyes, he saw the young man give him a nod of thanks. Arthur returned it, thankful that Molly had her back turned and didn't see that last little exchange._

—_End Flashback—_

Needless to say, that was the point where Mrs. Weasley had started going overboard with the potions: some for him, some for Ginny, some for Arthur. Fortunately for them, she'd messed up: about a week after the article had come out, she had attempted to set up the single-target potion again on Harry, but had messed up and accidentally tainted a whole batch of carrot cake with Amortentia with Ginny as the target of the potion's artificial affections. Ronald had been the first one to eat some cake and began professing his undying love for his sister right there at the dinner table, to Molly's and everyone else's horror. This was the point where Arthur began putting his foot down. Unfortunately, no culprit had been discovered, although Ron had been quick to blame Harry as soon as he'd been administered a bit of antidote. Harry had rebuffed these claims by pointing out that he and Ginny had been at Luna's house the entire time the cake was being baked.

While Arthur was not the Lord of the house (House Weasley being matriarchal), he did make it clear that the next time Amortentia was discovered in anyone's food, he'd be calling the Aurors and letting them sort it out. What he hadn't said was who he thought was responsible: he had noticed that Molly seemed happier today than she had since the article; she had offered the first piece to Harry, and the potion had targeted Ginny. Such a strong love potion was too potent to be meant to solve any possible argument between siblings, leading him to believe that whoever was responsible had wanted Ginny to hook up with someone—and his guess was that Harry was the intended recipient. He didn't want to think about who was responsible (although he had suspicions). Really, things had gone Harry's way: it was getting easier and easier to lead Ginny away from her parents' influence. Her father was stable enough, but it was her mother that was screwing up, and a mother is supposed to be a role model for a young woman. He'd already been partially successful, given her blackmail attempt on Ronald: while she had gotten a lot of work out of him, he'd complained every time he was doing her chores, to the point that it almost wasn't worth it to get out of doing them herself. It was a start in the right direction though, as far as Harry was concerned, and he'd take what he could get. The fact that he was sure Arthur didn't quite fully trust his wife anymore would serve him well in future dealings with their family. _"Still, enough reminiscing," _Harry thought. _"Back to the matter at hand."_

Deciding to continue his experiment from earlier in the summer, he relaxed for a second or two, slipping into his meditative state. The way he imagined it, his mind was separating from his body, separating from the frail form of flesh and blood that housed his spirit, his soul, his essence. In this form, he could not be harmed: pain became nothing, and everything became painful. Focusing his concentration, he willed the universe to show him the ebb and flow of energy that surrounded him; he willed his physical body to change, his eyes to see what was truly going on in the world.

Opening his eyes, he gave a small smile as the familiar glows of magic greeted him: his ability to see magic was getting sharper, more distinct; colours were more vibrant, or at least more visible. His friends' magic—their flows, their natures, their potential—was as visible as the nose on his face. He could even suss out mental traits by observing their magic, although this ability was limited. He hadn't been using the ability as often as he'd planned, but that didn't matter: only the results mattered.

Hermione's aura was similar to what he'd seen in her mind the previous year when they'd been working on their Occlumency with Draco: the familiar ribbons of colour twisting through their respective owners' mindscapes. Draco was similar to what he'd been, with twists of dark green, blue, and purple winding their way through his brain, although they appeared to be just a shade or two lighter than what he'd seen before..

The twins were an interesting pair, magically speaking. They had over all similar colours covering just about the entire spectrum, indicating slightly over-average capabilities in virtually every aspect of magic, although there was no white or black anywhere in either of their auras. This was nothing new: everyone capable of magic had every colour in their magical aura; the stronger they were in that particular area of magic, the brighter and more intense it would appear. The intensity of the colour, rather than the color itself, showed where their strengths lay. With the practice he'd had over the past month, he'd gotten pretty good at determining where someone's strengths lay.

The twins' talents lay on opposite ends of the spectrum: Fred was a more aggressive person, it seemed, and favoured combat magicks; he certainly had more power than his twin brother, although not much more, and barely more than average. Practical spellcasting was his forte, until it involved more mundane charms and other such things. From this, Harry deduced that he was likely the better shot of the two, having more natural talent for spell duels. His aura indicated a rather high intelligence for someone so focused, but Harry wasn't too surprised, as he knew both of the twins to be ahead of most of their peers, even if their grades indicated otherwise. His pockets contained a small collection of magical gadgets, likely his and George's inventions, the purposes of which seemed focused on messing with someone's perceptions of reality.

George, on the other hand, was definitely a thinker—the brains of the operation, you could say. From potions to charms, enchanting to small transfiguration, he specialized in the more subtle branches of magic. His power levels were below average, but he made up for it by being leaps and bounds more creative than his brother; George's raw intelligence was nearly at the same level as his and Hermione's. In all likelihood, he could have gone to Ravenclaw if he'd wished. Harry had seen it happen: the Patil twins had split like that, and they were likely similar magically to the Weasley twins, at least regarding where their strengths lay. Also, while Fred had a few items on his person that could be used to prank someone or give him an advantage in a fight, George's pockets appeared to contain more toys that should have physically fit into the room, much less into his pockets. Again, these were likely personal inventions, although there were so many, he couldn't even begin to discern their purposes; just looking at him was bringing on a psychedelic migraine.

The only other not of interest was the band of gray that extended out from their auras towards each other, meeting and intertwining in the middle. This confirmed something he'd long suspected about Fred and George: they were soul-linked twins. A rather interesting phenomenon that could occur in either magical or non-magical twins (although magical twins were more likely than non), this ability allowed a person to feel their twin's emotions or even, whether by accident or practice, read the other's mind. This ability likely allowed them a method of communication that couldn't be overheard except by a powerful Master of mind magicks. They could talk, form a single cover story if they got caught...the possibilities were mind-boggling. It also explained how they were so adept at finishing each other's sentences.

Luna was an interesting case in other ways. Her magic to focus more on charms and transfiguration, and she was a bit underpowered compared to the twins, although that might be due more to age than anything else. Her intelligence was...well, the best way to describe it was that the little blonde girl had deep knowledge, like Hermione, but also wide knowledge; wisdom, perhaps. It was a willingness to accept anything, which fit with what Harry knew of her.

The final oddity was a colorless..._thing_. It appeared to his magically-enhanced sight to be empty space in her aura, an anomaly that he'd never seen before. What's more, it looked like it was taking some sort of vague tubular shape, like a spaghetti noodle or a tentacle or a snake, that seemed to twist and turn, undulating in and out of her aura until he was sure it would tie itself in a knot, before it disappeared beneath the surface of her magic, which for whatever reason, he couldn't seem to see past. His intense staring had not gone unnoticed—or rather, the twins hadn't noticed, on account of being so caught up in the game. Luna was staring right back at him as she continued to play, and the small half-smile adorning her face was a bit unnerving, even for him. With but a thought, his vision returned to normal.

Returning to his book, Harry continued taking down notes of interesting points while the others played on. After several games, the twins begged off: they insisted they had promised to meet a friend (Lee Jordan, they said) and hurried off. Harry suspected they were getting a bit tired of losing, but said nothing as the twin terrors rushed out of the compartment. Luna gave a little half-smile at his questioning glance, and took out a magazine called "The Quibbler". Settling into her seat, she began flipping through, absentmindedly petting Cheshire while she read. There was a knock at the door; it opened before anyone could say "Come in."

In walked Pansy Parkinson, a vile little Slytherin girl in their year who was obsessed with Draco. She turned her nose up at Hermione, but didn't say anything about her; instead, she began whining at Draco in what was probably meant to be a cute manner, pleading with him to come to her compartment with Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini, Greengrass, and Nott. Draco caught Harry's eye: refusing to go would be disastrous socially and possibly politically, but he couldn't just leave, as it would imply that Harry wasn't considered politically important enough for Draco to beg his pardon, which was essentially what he was doing ; receiving a nod from Harry, he agreed to go with Pansy.

Once they'd left, only Harry, Ginny, Luna, and Hermione were left in the compartment. This continued for several minutes until Harry finished the section of his book he was currently engrossed in. He looked up to find the three females talking in low voices. It suddenly stopped, and they all looked up—right at him. Then they giggled. Getting a bad feeling about this situation, Harry excused himself, intending to visit other friends/possible allies on the train while his female friends talked about...whatever it was they were talking about. He had a funny feeling he didn't want to be present for such a conversation.

Over the next couple of hours, he wandered around the train from compartment to compartment, extending his magical vision to avoid interacting with those who wished him harm. He visited the friends/allies he'd made through Hermione's study group and got sucked into conversations about their summers; Susan Bones' aunt, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, was having trouble getting Fudge to approve of increased funding to the Auror Corps, which was why they couldn't keep up with rising crime rates. Her friend, Hannah Abbott, had heard from her father about how the head of an Ancient and Noble House had been thrown into Azkaban without a trial and the evidence suggesting his innocence; that she was a member of the unofficial Hogwarts Rumor Mill (Hufflepuff division) was only a bonus in his opinion.

Most of the Ravenclaws were working on some sort of project, whether for extra credit or for purely intellectual reasons. Su Li was working on an assignment for transfiguration investigating the reasons why gold couldn't be directly transfigured (there was some sort of Law of Magick that supposedly made gold impossible to create through transfiguration or conjuration); Anthony Goldstein and Terry Boot were getting a head start on learning Ancient Runes and Arithmancy; Padma Patil was looking into twin bonds and what they could be used for. So far, she knew communication was possible, but wasn't sure if it would be possible if one twin had Occlumency barriers in place; such an experiment, if it could be pulled off, would determine whether twin bonds took place on an intellectual level (taking place in the mind, where such defenses would stop the messages), or if it was a spiritual thing (taking place in the soul, which would be unhindered by Occlumency). When they asked what Harry's project was he told them, and received weird looks, as if they didn't believe he could do it. They wished him good luck and returned to their books.

His conversation with Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown had left him with more information than he needed, and almost none of it useful: who was with who, who had broken up with who, who was already in trouble, what certain influential or famous people had been up to during the summer hols; it didn't help that the two seemed to giggle every few sentences...or every time he asked a question...or at other random times for no apparent reason. Anyway, while virtually none of the information was useful in and of itself, what it did tell him was that the two Gryffindor girls had a knack for gossip; they had a way of getting people to share otherwise semi-confidential information with them. It showed both a social skill that few people possessed and a possible talent in intelligence gathering: the two would be excellent sources of non-academic knowledge.

Making a mental note of this for the future, Harry changed the subject, asking Parvati if she'd been assisting her sister in her experiment; she affirmed this for him. She had actually been "Pad's" only "test subject" so far; she told of a few tests they'd run, including seeing if certain mentally-based charms worked through such a bond, such as the Cheering Charm. This had turned out to be a dead end, which explained why Padma hadn't mentioned it: she didn't want to discuss the failed experiments in front of her housemates. Incidentally, it also confirmed for Hadrian that magic could be used in a magical household with a wand without the Trace detecting it, one of his suspicions when he'd discovered it didn't track wandless magic.

Leaving the giggling Gryffs, he wandered around the train, eavesdropping on various conversations being held by older students. He was quiet and subtle enough about it that he was able to learn some interesting information: supposedly, some second-year Ravenclaw had humiliated a Ravenclaw prefect at the end of the previous year and was now on some sort of power trip. Recalling the prefect in question, one muggleborn Eloise Midgen, he remembered the girl being covered in acne at closing feast last year. If he wasn't mistaken, she was a muggleborn, leading him to believe this was likely some sort of blood purity-based conflict.

This didn't sound too good for him, since it would be hard to make friends and allies in the house of intelligence if they were afraid of being punished like that by a few snooty kids. He would be more than capable of dealing with them when the time came, of course, but for now there was no reason to do anything: if he allowed them to continue, it would build up desperation in the younger Ravens, making them much more open to manipulation if he swooped in to save the day. He got a feeling like he was forgetting something, but he shrugged it off.

Continuing his circuit of the train, he eventually reached the front, where the prefects were meeting. Turning around, he made his way back to the other end of the train. Suddenly, he ran into a mousy little boy who appeared to be on the verge of wetting himself. The boy in question had a mop of blonde hair on his head and bright blue eyes full of innocence and childlike naivety. The boy began babbling: Hadrian caught the words "Harry Potter", "muggleborn", and "photo". Seeing the old-timey camera around the boy's neck, he gathered that he wanted a picture. "Sure," he said, cutting off the boy mid sentence. The boy didn't seem put off at all by the slightly rude response and quickly snapped a picture, tossing a thank you over his shoulder as he ran down the train, quickly disappearing from view. Shaking his head, Harry continued his walk.

As he made his way back to his compartment, he felt the train begin to slow down. Had they already arrived? Thinking back, he realized just how long some of his conversations had taken, and just how long he'd read his book back in the compartment. Arriving at his compartment, he found the girls already changed into their robes. Luckily, he'd changed into his own robes in the bathroom before shadow-traveling onto the train, so he didn't have to ask them to leave while he changed. That meant there was plenty of time to talk: trains didn't slow down very quickly because of how they were constructed as well as for safety purposes, so they still had a few minutes.

After a few minutes of idle chatter, they had pulled into the station. Wishing Luna and Ginny good luck as they all exited the train, Harry and Hermione made their way off of the platform and over to the carriages that brought the second years and up to the school. As they walked away, Harry noticed that Cheshire was still riding the blonde girl's shoulders. Smiling at the sight, he ignored that it was so strange that Cheshire was behaving for someone else. As they walked towards the carriages, Hermione said "I think this year is going to be interesting for us." Harry looked over at her, a little surprised by the statement, to see her staring up at the castle contemplatively. Seeing his glance, she hastened to explain herself: "Well, first of all, we have Gilderoy Lockhart teaching us. With his experience in using Defense Magick in the real world, we might learn something genuinely useful," she exclaimed. As an afterthought, she added, "Well, more useful than usual."

"I'll admit, the man's reputation is amazing," Harry said. "Mind you, there's something about him that...worries me. I'm not sure what it is, but I don't trust him."

"It could be that you're feeling a bit of his aura leaking out: with what he's done, he probably very powerful. Dumbledore's aura flares at times, and it makes him downright scary! The same thing happens with you." Harry nodded; he'd felt Dumbledore's aura at times, and it was a bit overwhelming being so close to so much power. It still felt different from Lockhart, but he didn't mention it; the difference was probably more due to the difference between the two men than anything truly sinister. "That reminds me of the other reason this year is interesting," Hermione continued. "With you going against Dumbledore's judgement on the Sirius Black matter, the two of you are going to be dancing around one another in a race to see how much political support you can get. Hopefully, it won't get dangerous, but if you push him too far..." she trailed off. "Well, we've already seen some of what he's willing to do to get you under his control; how much further would he go?"

Harry nodded, well aware that this year was going to be interesting. In his mind, he thought about what the "terror's old" could be. "It'll all work out; don't worry about that, 'Mione."

She glanced at him, amusement dancing across her face. "Were you just being optimistic? Someone call the Prophet!" she finished with a tone dripping in sarcasm.

He chuckled. "I suppose it does seem a little odd. It's not optimism, though; I'm simply confident in my abilities."

His female friend frowned in concern. "Don't underestimate him, Harry. He's dangerous and powerful. I don't want to see you get hurt."

"If it's any consolation," Harry said "I think he's starting to think of me less as a student and more as someone with actual importance in the world: he wasn't treating me like a child at the party; he was acting as if he understood the kind of power I'm coming into. But let's not talk of such depressing things: have your parents warmed up to me since he party?"

Hermione gave a small smile at this. "Actually, they have. They aren't too happy about it, but they are willing to accept that you might be worthy of my friendship."

"I wasn't aware that was something that was up to them," Harry said offhandedly.

"Yes, well, just keep your nose clean this year, and we'll be able to see each other over the summer," Hermione said.

Harry nearly snorted at this; instead, he just said "I think this year is going to be even more interesting than the last one." He didn't explain this comment, and Hermione didn't ask him to. They walked to the carriages in the comfortable silence that only good friends can have.

As Harry and Hermione approached the carriages, he noticed that, despite what the twins had said over the summer when he'd asked, they did have something pulling them. From their skeletal appearance and the fact that most people weren't freaking out at the sight of the bony, bat-winged horses, Harry concluded that these were threstrals: generally they were considered omens of death and bad fortune because of their frightening appearance and the fact that only those who had seen death could see them. Boarding the nearest carriage, which had room for six, he boarded the carriage after helping Hermione up the steps like a gentleman should. They were soon joined by Draco and his three shadows: Crabbe, Goyle, and sadly, Pansy Parkinson.

Hadrian's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly at the sight of the pureblood princess: the girl was one of the most vocal within Slytherin house when it came to the subject of blood purity, at least among the younger few years. She was usually quite uncomfortable around him; half-blood though he may be, he was Lord Potter, and with the Parkinsons being a patriarchal family, she'd never even be in the same ballpark of political power as he was. This fear of reprisal didn't extend so far as to put up with muggleborns in the Slytherin common room without expressing her disapproval, and she had made her opinion of Hermione clear from their first meeting.

Sure enough, the girl's expression grew tighter at the sight of his female friend. Turning to Draco, she simpered "Do we have to sit here, Drakey poo? I know an alliance with him would be great, but sitting with..._her_..." she cast a withering glance in Hermione's direction, who rolled her eyes at the girl's behavior. "It's beneath you," Pansy finished with a coo, hanging off Draco's arm.

He dislodged her. "I'll sit with Harry if I choose; I will be talking with him about this later. For now, if you can't play nice, please find another carriage. Making such a fuss should be beneath you as well."

Harumphing, Pansy left the carriage, as did Crabbe and Goyle, though the two did so reluctantly. At Hermione's questioning look, Draco sighed and quickly glanced out to make sure they were gone. Not seeing them, he said "Crabbe and Goyle have been assigned as my bodyguards for the rest of my Hogwarts career...or at least for this year. My father is concerned that you're influencing me, Hadrian."

"I imagine that at least one or two people in Slytherin sent him letters expressing their concern over your actions last year," Harry replied casually. "It wouldn't surprise me if Pansy was one of them," he added.

Draco's expression darkened. "That thought had occurred to me, as well. That girl is...she's just..." he trailed off, muttering under his breath.

"Awwww," Hermione cooed. "Is Drakey-poo in love?" Draco paled, a look of disgust crossing his face. Harry smirked, both because it was funny, and because Hermione was loosening up enough to joke around.

"No! I'm not in love with Pansy Parkinson!" Draco hissed at the brunette bookworm, as she grinned. "Her parents and my father have been setting us up to get married for years. There hasn't been a contract, but she's convinced that we're destined to be together; we'll be the king and queen of Slytherin in years to come, spreading the good word of the Dark Lord to all those who deserve to serve him." The Malfoy scion's speech was dripping with sarcasm.

"Unfortunately," he said, a serious tone replacing his sarcasm, "Her letter, if she did send one, got my father genuinely concerned for me; perhaps it was something else, and she wasn't involved, but the result is the same. He's had several talks with me this summer, and seemed generally disappointed. I imagine that one of the reasons he's gotten those two lumps to stick to me like glue this year is to make sure I'm not left alone with you two. Pansy is extra insurance, but I imagine she volunteered: my father wouldn't go so far as to demand it of her father, but Pansy herself is quite malleable to manipulation."

"If that's the case, you'll have to be careful," Harry said, his mind going through possible ways to take advantage of this development.

"Very careful," Draco agreed. He paused, a worried look crossing his face. "I may have to...put on an act for them at several points this year. You understand, right?" he said, directing his question to Hermione.

"Of course," she replied. Suddenly, the carriage came to a stop: they had arrived. Disembarking, the three of them split up: the Opening Feast was one of the few feasts where students had to sit with their own houses. As Hermione left to go walk with the rest of the Gryffindors to the Great Hall, Harry and Draco were joined by Pansy and the wonder twins. Pansy began babbling about how thankful she was that Granger wasn't accompanying them and about how her summer had gone; where her family had gone, who they'd made alliances with, how many house elves she'd kicked, and so on. Draco seemed to be practicing the age-old conversation tactics of men: nodding, saying "Yeah" or "Uh huh" every once in awhile, and anything else that would make it seem like he was listening to the girl—who acted as if they were married—blather on about virtually nothing important.

Harry listened with one ear, since every other sentence helped him better understand how to manipulate the opinionated girl; he preferred to spend most of his concentration using his mage sight to observe his fellow first years. As before, he was mostly using it as a glimpse into their mental state: their strengths and weaknesses. It was still touch and go for the most part, but the practice was helping, especially since he already knew the personality traits of a number of them. Most of his observations garnered no new information: his fellow students, even a good number of the Slytherins, wore their hearts on their sleeves, their personalities and mental state on display for the world. Their magical talents were obvious from their classwork, and the only real surprise was that one of the Gryffindors, Dean Thomas, seemed to exhibit signs of being creative or imaginative.

Harry theorized to himself that this mage sight ability he taught himself was similar to Legilimency, or at least involved similar ideas. However, he needed to leave such experimentation for later until he mastered Occlumency well enough to go poking around in someone's mind without losing himself in the process.

They finally arrived in the Great Hall. As they students in green made their way over to their housemates, Pansy dragged off Draco towards the far end of the table, where a number of the more vocal blood purists usually sat. Harry, spotting a couple of empty seats next to a friendly face, made his way over the that section of the table. "Marcus," Hadrian said in greeting as he took his seat. The older Slytherin was captain of the Quidditch team, a prefect, and one of the few in the upper years that considered Harry an asset rather than a threat.

"Hadrian," Flint responded, his eyes sweeping the hall. "You still up to playing this year?"

"Perhaps," Harry said. Noticing the older boy's gaze, he asked "What are you looking for?"

Flint took a last glance around the Hall, before turning to Harry. "I'm looking to see who's gone, whether they graduated or dropped out. Some people owed others favors, while some were acting as protectors; now that they're gone, those favors can be manipulated into services, while those that have previously been protected by 7th years can now rejoin the list of targets."

Hadrian nodded. He'd noticed a few people gone that would be more beneficial to his cause: some of the upper year Gryffs had made his life difficult the previous year at what they perceived as his "betrayal" of becoming a snake instead of a lion., as well as snatching away their victory in the Quidditch Cup. The seventh years were now gone, moved on from Hogwarts school politics, while the sixth years, who were now seventh years, were more focused on their N.E.W.T.s than the previous years, making it difficult for them to continue their little grudge match. Those Gryffs who were fifth years last year had been too busy working on their O.W.L.s to care too much, with the exception of one Oliver Wood, who was the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team and was rumored to be quite fanatical where the sport was concerned.

The Hufflepuffs were neutral towards him; they knew him to be a friendly person usually, and his acquaintances and shaky friendships within the house of badgers had earned him some respect. He was thankful that Hermione had started the study group, otherwise it would have taken some interesting manipulation of events to make friends of the loyal badgers.

The Ravenclaws couldn't have cared less which house he was in; paradoxically, the only reason they respected him was the same reason it was harder to make friends from his year in the house: the top ten only had ten spots, and he was taking up one of them. Sure, nearly half the first year ravens were in the top ten for their year, and took up four or five slots, but those that weren't in the top ten were a bit upset at the fact that there was only one Ravenclaw in the top three-and that they were third! Still, those who were in the top ten already, or outside of his own year, respected his academic achievements and were friendly enough, so long as he wasn't interrupting their studying or projects.

His placing within Slytherin was quite high, considering his age, but when you considered his Lordship and the duel he'd had with Higgs the previous year, it wasn't too surprising. Still, he had to be careful: forming alliances with those older than him would become vital if he wanted to maintain or improve his position. This made being on the Quidditch team necessary: so long as he was Seeker, their success in the Quidditch Cup was essentially riding on his shoulders. When you considered that the only decent competition was the fifth year 'Puff, Cedric Diggory, he was sure he could win them the Cup, so long as Flint and the other Chasers could score a significant number of goals over the course of their three matches.

A conversation with some of the third year Slytherins ate away at his time; there was an heir and two scions in the year above him in his house, and he found them easy to talk into supporting him; only one of the scions was a strongly devoted pureblood—and even he had been convinced, after some time. That was where his advantage lay: those only a few years above him weren't as set into the mentality that they needed to oppose him on principle for destroying Voldemort as the upper years were, and those same upper years would be changing their tunes before too long, if he had his say. Soon enough, Professor McGonagall left the hall, returning shortly with a group of soon-to-be first years trailing behind her, looking quite soaked. He was surprised that the rain had picked up so quickly; he caught Ginny's eye and gave her a slightly apologetic smile. She glared, but only with her eyes, as her mouth was busy smiling, as if she had no problem with how things were going.

The sorting began after the hat sang a song vaguely reminiscent of his own years. The same ideas were stated: the qualities of the four houses and a vague plea for unity that everyone was sure to ignore. Professor McGonagall unrolled her scroll and began summoning the bedraggled first years to the stool so that the next seven years of their lives could begin. One of the first names called out was "Creevey, Colin!" A tiny blonde boy hopped out of line and sprinted excitedly towards the stool; Harry stifled a small groan as he saw the camera hanging around his neck; he realized that the boy was the fan that ambushed him on the train. He jammed the hat on his head quickly, and within seconds was off to join the lions, who roared their approval. Harry wasn't surprised at all by this: the kid didn't have a mischievous bone in his body.

More names were called out, one after another. ""Grout, Lance!", a dark-haired muggleborn, went to Hufflepuff, while "Henderson, Guy!", the half-blood Scion Henderson, went into Ravenclaw. Several names that had passed by, like "Hopkirk, Christopher!" or "Addams, Pubert" belonged to those who were related to, but not set to be, their head of house. Harry made note of these names as well, since they would have some form of influence over their future head of their house. Not for the first time, he marveled at how lucky he was to grow up in this time; many House heads had been killed during the war, leaving the title to politically untrained children. Some would be hard to manipulate, and of course he had competition in the form of more experienced aristocrats, but he was already building a good power base.

"Lovegood, Luna!" called the elderly Transfiguration Master. Luna skipped towards the hat, ignoring the chuckles and whispers of "blonde bimbo" or "airhead" as she passed. Harry frowned at these: eccentric though she may be, Luna was plenty smart, and was likely to end up in Ravenclaw—the same house most of the whispers were coming from. He decided he'd keep an eye on the situation, and hope he could see trouble coming and deflect it from his newest friend. As she put on the hat, she began humming again, this time a tune he recognized as "Mordred's Lullaby". After several seconds, the hat shouted "Ravenclaw!" and off she went. Harry noticed one of her housemates start a conversation with her, only to be put off by the reply. She'd probably mentioned one of her creatures and the other Raven didn't believe her. Oh well.

The sorting continued, with no one of importance going anywhere unexpected until finally, McGonagall called out "Weasley, Ginevra!". As the only person left to be sorted, all eyes were on Ginny as she made her way up to the stool. She gave one last glance at Harry, who smiled reassuringly at her, before the hat descended, covering her eyes. The Sorting Hat was silent for some minute and thirty seconds, longer than most any other sorting they'd seen either this year or the previous year. Eventually, the rip near the brim opened wide and yelled out "Slytherin!"

A hush covered the Great Hall: a Weasley in Slytherin? Ginny, true to form, made her way to the Slytherin table amid the silence. Several Slytherins burst into applause, including Harry, but they were virtually the only ones to do so: everyone else was still recovering from the shock. Harry had a sneaking suspicion that this would continue for a week or two; that's how long it took for him after his own sorting. She walked over, and he patted the seat next to him, saved just for her. She flashed him a grateful smile, before taking her seat. This gesture, as if he'd expected this, was not lost on the other Slytherins; some who had been thinking of violently objecting to her presence in her house were now less inclined to do so, having no interest in taking up the position so recently belonging to Higgs at the bottom of the Slytherin food chain. So they watched on, planning and plotting, while Harry's inner self descended into slightly maniacal laughter.

Dumbledore stood up. He cried out "Another excellent sorting! To all of our new students, welcome! And to all our old ones, welcome back! Now, before we begin the feast, I have a few announcements: first, please give a warm welcome to the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Gilderoy Lockhart!" This announcement received large amounts of applause, mostly from the female population, Harry noticed. The man stood and gave a sweeping bow, smiling broadly in response to his adoring fans. "Yes, yes," Dumbledore said, "Let us hope Professor Lockhart remains among us for many years to come. As usual, there have been several additions made to the list of banned items here at Hogwarts, most of them being recently created Zonko's products. For a full list, see Mr. Filch's office door. As a warning to the first years, and the more adventurous upper years, for that matter, I would remind you that the Forbidden Forest is just that: forbidden. But I've kept you from your meal long enough: dig in!"

The meal passed in a blur, with Harry and Ginny mostly talking amongst themselves. This wasn't for lack of interest in their housemates: most of the Slytherins didn't feel she belonged, but weren't willing to say so; instead, they were refusing to talk to her, since she was clearly beneath them. Harry noticed this, but as it coincided with his plans, he allowed it to continue. He'd taken the girl under his wing, but he still had his own agenda. She'd even asked about it; his half-truth answer had been satisfactory at the time, and she hadn't asked again. As he was talking with a few of his other friends within the house (well, allies, really), he noticed Filch had entered the Hall and was whispering something to Professor Snape. The man's fury wasn't obvious from his facial expressions unless you knew what to look for. He stood abruptly and left the hall with Filch following closely.

Harry leaned over to Ginny, who was busying herself talking to a couple of Ravenclaws, and said "I think your brother's just arrived at Hogwarts." She looked at him confusedly before realizing what he meant and giving a small sigh of exasperation. Ronald had become increasingly impossible to live with ever since the blackmail in Flourish and Blotts; he was sure that Harry had lured Ginny completely over to the dark side. His overly protective act had all but disappeared, replaced only by scorn and hate. This was just one more mark against him in Hadrian's book: the boy was quick to abandon his little sister to the darkness, because doing otherwise would result in him having to put a little effort into fixing the things he currently only whined about. It was something Harry couldn't stand, especially when such a lazy attitude was directed at the boy's own flesh and blood. Sure enough, after several minutes, Professor Snape was dragging in the youngest Weasley boy by his ear; he flung the gangly ginger in the direction of the staff table and spoke to McGonagall in low tones. After a short conversation, during which the elderly witch's expression grew sterner by the second, the three of them left, with Ronald looking very forlorn.

Soon enough, the feast was over; after a few announcements by the Headmaster, and a performance of the school song, all the students headed off to bed. Ginny joined the other first years in following the prefects back to the common room. Rather than take the same path everyone else had, Harry took a few shortcuts shown to him by the Marauder's Map. Not for the first time, he was thinking of how little he'd investigated his parents' lives before his birth. For now, though, there was nothing to be done about that. Arriving at the common room, he realized he didn't know the password. He hissed a low oath directed at the skeleton that served as their house's guardian before turning to go find a prefect. Suddenly, off to his left, he heard _"Enter, speaker."_ He whirled, but saw only the snakeskins decorating an unused classroom that served as a decoy common room that trapped those foolish enough to try and gain entry through less than honest means, such as certain Gryffindors. He walked over, and opened the door.

To his surprise, inside was the actual common room, rather than the decoy. Making his way in cautiously, he turned to leave, only to find that the door leading out now seemed to lead to the usual location once more. "Strange," he announced to the empty room before making off for bed. As he made his way to his room, he realized that the strange entrance wasn't even on the map. Had his father been unable to find the hidden entrance, or was this all an illusion of some sort. He didn't think the decoy worked like that, but wasn't too sure. Regardless, if he was trapped here, he may as well get some sleep, he decided. After just a few minutes of tossing and turning, he was sound asleep, awaiting his first day of second year classes.

* * *

A.N.: So that's it for now. It felt like 14k of filler to me, so maybe it's not so good. Please leave a review on your way out. Sorry if the chapter seems dull.


	5. Honey, I'm Home!

_A.N.: Welcome back to another installment of Hadrian Potter: Darkness Returns! Last chapter, I was rather depressed at how slow my progress was. I was running into a huge problem most writers face at some point: I know where the story is going, but not how to get it there, and was agonizing over the minute details. Unfortunately, it happened again, as you can see from the date of this posting. Hopefully, updates will be coming quicker, but this book is where things start to happen that don't go according to the canon schedule as much. What with the early introduction of Luna, learning more about Sable, and Ginny's sorting into Slytherin, not to mention all the Chamber stuff, this book is going to be much longer than the first, and I want it to be a good read._

_Word of warning regarding my writing: if you're expecting me to stick to canon just because "that's how Rowling did it"...don't. The reason last (and this) chapter have taken so long is that I've been pondering certain characters and events. Characters that were previously static are more realistic. I realize that most of my readers understand and enjoy this fact, and that it's a bit late to be putting this kind of disclaimer in, but I felt it was necessary._

_Harry Potter, Gryffindor golden boy, had friends that stuck with him through thick and thin (mostly). Perfect relationships._

_Hadrian Potter, Slytherin prince, is at the center of a web of lies, half-truths, and deceit. Nothing is true, and trust is rare; relationships are stressed in crucible that is the magical political world, and who knows which friendships will survive it? Only time can tell. That's what I love: drama, intrigue, conflict. It makes the story come to life. So canon Harry had the whole school hating him at multiple points? Big deal, he didn't like most of them anyway. But Hadrian Potter has to manipulate public opinion, because at times his life will depend on it._

_Also, on suggestion from a reviewer: flapjacks are pancakes, for those you reading this on your iStones._

_Shout-outs:_

_As always, thanks go out to Trekke1 for being the official beta and to alix33 for being the unofficial beta; these two make my stuff easier on the eyes. I'm waiting to hear back from Trekke1, and will update this chapter when they respond._

_To those who noticed my little tangent crossover: the Addams family is a great example of "dark, but not evil", a common train of thought in dark/Slytherin Harry Potter stories. This will ultimately have very little impact on my story, but it's a nice little tidbit._

_**Manah Scarlet Shadowsong**: Sable's role will grow as time goes on, and it starts in this chapter._

_**Cosmyk Angel**: That paragraph is intentionally weird. To summarize, Harry is cursing at a skeleton, which serves as the Slytherin version of the fat lady, when a nearby wall panel opens up. He knows that there are fake entrances designed to trap Gryffindors, and thinks this wall opening is one. Curiosity drives him inside, where he finds what looks like the Slytherin common room. He is unsure whether this is a trap or not, but is too tired to care. I hope that clears up any confusion._

_**Jonn Wolfe**: This is what I'm talking about: three girls talking and giggling about a guy. Are they all just good friends of his? It's possible. Are they plotting to form a harem with him at the head? Again, possible. I'm leaving the option open just in case down the line I make a decision._

_This A.N. has gone on long enough. On with the story!_

* * *

Chapter 5: Honey, I'm Home!

_—September 2, 1991—_

Hadrian Potter woke up feeling relaxed for the first time in over a month. No more worrying about love potions in his food and drink, no more putting up with Ronald's moaning at breakfast—well, at least not at the same table—and no more prank-proofing his stuff to deter the twins. Life was good again. He hadn't even had a weird maybe-a-prophecy dream, so that was something.

Rolling out of bed, the young Lord Potter prepared for the day ahead. Several minutes later, his morning preparations finished, he made his way into the common room. A few minutes later, as he made his way out into the common room, he gave a nod of greeting to Draco, who was in the midst of a conversation with Pansy and Theodore Nott; his two shadows were standing behind him, the dull look in their eyes an indication of their interest in the conversation. Draco, catching Harry's look, nodded and excused himself politely. Turning to leave, the two of them made their way out of the common room, closely followed by the two shaved gorillas. Ginny, spotting her friend leaving, joined them, with no objections from Draco or the twin wonders.

As they made their way through the hall, Harry asked "So what did Theo want this time? Another argument, or something else?"

"My father wishes for me to interact more with "the right sort". According to him, this includes Theo and Pansy." Draco sighed. "I swear, those two could be replaced with parrots, the way they only repeat their parents' opinions. I could barely get a word in without Pansy talking about how Granger is nothing but trash and Theo asking when I was going to, and I quote, "put Potter in his place". Honestly, the Notts haven't even been a pureblood family for two centuries yet; even these two," he nodded towards Crabbe and Goyle, "can claim a richer ancestry. The Potters are one of the oldest lines, and they've always had a very neutral position in the war between light and dark. You'd think that would win you some points."

"It appears that people can barely remember the events of the last week unless it relates to their own blood purity," Harry replied. "The only allegiances that matter to the current generation are the ones your family had in the last war on the dark."

Ginny spoke up: "Why should blood matter? It's about ability, right? The worth of a person is in what they're capable of, and what they've done for society. Who your family is shouldn't matter."

Harry shook his head, while Draco snorted a little. Harry replied "That may be true in the muggle world, but here things are slightly different. While that's how it should work, what actually happens is all of the old pureblood families—one of which you are a member and future head of—have all of the money and have formed various monopolies. Whenever someone from the outside, or someone in the system that they don't approve of, tries to do business, they get driven out by all of the rich purebloods working together. By controlling all of the money, they effectively control the government. Several Death Eaters got off by claiming they had been under the influence of the Imperius Curse. A few greased palms later, they're getting off scot free and now have blackmail material against a major politician."

Ginny was silent after this. By the time they arrived at Great Hall, she had grudgingly accepted their explanation as fact. "So what can we do about it?"

"That's the beauty of it: we will work within the system," Harry said. Seeing her about to ask another question, likely explaining himself, he added "Not now; once we reach the table," giving a nod towards Draco's new bodyguards, who didn't notice as they were too busy trying to look tough. Ginny nodded her understanding.

As they seated themselves, Draco excused himself: he was supposed to eat with the "right sort" every once in awhile, and this morning was as good a time as any. As the three snakes slithered away, Harry continued in a lower tone of voice, pausing every few sentences to take a bite or two of flapjacks. "Hermione started a study group last year that gathered a large following over the course of the year, mostly those in our own age group. There are very few Slytherins at the moment, but I imagine that number will continue to grow. As of this year, we will continue meeting. The point of the study group is to further our individual and collective understanding of how magic works, which has led to higher grades and less stressful lives."

"What isn't stated, and had so far gone unnoticed, is that several members are in line to become head of house. The group allows people like you and I to form connections without seeming suspicious, especially since many Slytherins still think we're Gryffindors at heart. Some of them are starting to see me come into my own, especially after some of the more visible events of last year, but most still underestimate me. While they do so, I have the perfect opportunity to form political connections out of friends and acquaintances that will last beyond Hogwarts. By using the prejudice inherent in the house system to our advantage, we can form connections where other Slytherins can't; this gathers political power into a small group, with people like you and eye pulling the strings to move the entire group in a certain direction."

Throughout this, Ginny had a pensive look on her face. "So...you're using them?" she said uncertainly.

"Not really, and no more than their using me," Hadrian replied. "I really am their friend; it just so happens that being friends sometimes comes with benefits. But for now, enjoy your breakfast: you've got a long day ahead of you." Digging into his food, he didn't mention he'd noticed some of their housemates starting to eavesdrop; it was better to drop the subject tactfully than to reveal anything too damning or draw too much attention: there were enough political powerhouses in the middle years to overcome him if they banded together right now, even with his friend's assistance. Thankfully, Ginny agreed to drop the subject and dug into her food

A few minutes after the clocktower in the courtyard struck nine, the Great Hall filled with owls of every shape and size imaginable. The brief look of wonder on Ginny's face was quickly suppressed by a glance from Harry as he perused the owls. Although rare in most parts of the world, because Scotland is so far north, snowy owls were a more common sight, even as pets and familiars. That being said, there were few enough delivering mail for students that they could be counted on one hand: from that batch, Harry could always pick out which one was his feathered gal. She often stopped by for a piece of bacon or toast, although she rarely had any mail for him, as most everyone he knew was here. This morning was no different.

Draco's eagle owl Mathias flew in, dwarfing the smaller birds surrounding it. It carried a noticeably smaller basket of goodies than usual as well as a note, something Harry hadn't seen before. Making a mental note to inquire about it later, he turned to his food only to hear a hush falling over the other side of the hall, as well as a small squeal of terror. He turned to face the Gryffindor table, where Ronald Weasley sat, his face a nasty pale color; he was staring wide-eyed at a blood-red envelope as if it was fear and terror crafted into a physical form. The ginger fool had received a Howler.

As the letter started to smoke, he panicked, casting several spells in an attempt to silence the letter, or turn it to ash, or do something to avoid the humiliation coming his way. Harry snickered at these attempts, along with most of the Slytherins and several Ravens and 'Puffs. Harry noticed several of the older students flicking their wands at their heads, but was too busy watching the show to notice what spell they were casting. Howlers were supposed to be loud, he knew that, but surely not so loud as to require a muffling charm on your ears...right? Finally, the letter burst into flames, rose a foot or so off of the table, and began shouting with a volume that made everyone's ears ache.

"—STEALING THE CAR?! MERLIN'S BEARD, DID YOU THINK WE WOULDN'T NOTICE THE CAR WAS GONE? DID YOU THINK WE WEREN'T GOING TO COME BACK? I WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY'D EXPELLED YOU! YOU WAIT 'TILL I GET HOLD OF YOU, RONALD WEASLEY! I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK WHAT YOUR FATHER AND I WENT THROUGH WHEN WE SAW IT WAS GONE—"

Mrs. Weasley's yells, a hundred times louder than usual, made the plates and spoons rattle on the table, and echoed deafeningly off the stone walls. As it continued on, Ronald changed from a terrified white colour to a decidedly embarrassed red, his face matching his hair as his mother chastised him with more than 100 dB of audible shame. Dead silence filled the Hall whenever the letter's voice paused for breath, with not even a single Slytherin left snickering; that said, the feeling of schadenfreude was so strong, it caused Ron to sink so low in his chair that only his crimson forehead could be seen.

"—LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT! I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME! I DON'T KNOW WHAT GOT INTO YOU! WE DIDN'T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS! DID YOU EVEN THINK FOR ONE SECOND ABOUT WHAT YOU WERE DOING?! YOU COULD HAVE DIED—"

Harry was beginning to get tired of this: his ears were going numb, and it looked like he wasn't the only one. Apparently, Howlers were made to last, or no one cared enough to silence it, because not one person, student or professor, attempted to destroy the letter. It looked like he'd been wrong about the volume a Howler could reach, but that was a lesson for next time.

"—ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED! YOUR FATHER'S FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK, AND IT'S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT! IF YOU PUT EVEN ONE TOE OUT OF LINE, WE'LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME! I WILL DRAG YOU OUT OF THE GREAT HALL BY YOUR EARS MYSELF!"

As the howler began to die down, it floated back down to the table, the flames engulfing it as it finished its tirade, leaving only a pile of ash on Ronald's plate, which had been full of food. As the letter disappeared, so too did the tension in the hall: the student body burst into laughter. The prefects and teachers, as well as few select individuals, avoided laughing, but most of the poor boy's peers had no mercy in their hearts. Interestingly, Hadrian was one of the few not laughing: he was staring at the miserable redhead with an unreadable expression. He had watched the redhead's face throughout the verbal abuse, and how it slowly morphed into an expression of such pure despair and suffering, Harry almost felt sorry for him.

Of course, it was hard to feel sorry for someone when they were yelling at you. Sure enough, as Ronald looked around the hall, and saw his sister suppressing a smirk—at the Slytherin table. He turned from white to red to purple at a speed Harry's uncle Vernon would be proud of. He stood up and stalked over to the table of green and silver; seeing his motion, the laughter died down, everyone waiting for the inevitable confrontation.

"Ginny!" Ron growled. "What the hell are you doing sitting over here with these—" he glanced around contemptuously, "—slimy snakes? Come on back to the Gryffindor table, where you belong."

"I'll have to turn you down there," Ginny said coldly. "I'd prefer to sit with my housemates."

Ronald chuckled. "Okay, good joke, Ginny. You got me. Now come on."

"It's not a joke. I was sorted into Slytherin, where I belong. If you hadn't been so busy flying a car into a tree for glory in the form of a month's worth of detention, you'd know that. Don't believe me, ask Percy." She turned away and continued eating her breakfast. Ronald stared at her stupidly, his expression gathering snickers from the other Slytherins; while they didn't like Ginny for being a Weasley, Ronald had the same thing counting against him, and he was also an arse, so they continued to support their own. After several seconds of hard thinking, Ronald noticed her clothing colours, and the fact that the other Slytherins weren't objecting to her presence. These factors were enough for him to leap to the worst (and, for once, the correct) conclusion.

"YOU'RE A SLIMY SNAKE?!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. When no response came immediately, due to her giving more attention to her meal than her brother, several students started laughing all across the hall. "What the hell is wrong with you Ginny?! When mum finds out, she'll go ballistic! Now come on, let's get you out of here." He grabbed her arm, startling her, and tried to drag her away. She struggled, but he had over a year on her, and also several inches; the two of them grappled their way towards the Gryffindor table, struggling all the while. As Harry stood to come to her aid, she managed to draw her wand and deliver a Stinging Hex to her brother's foot. He yelped and released her, hopping on his good foot while clutching the other one. She retreated back to her seat.

Ronald swore at her, coming at her again, only to stop dead as he found himself facing several wands from the students who no longer found this display amusing: Harry and Ginny in front, joined by several members of every single table had their wands out and pointed at him. Hadrian spoke up: "I would suggest you sit down, Ronald, and cease this assault before you find yourself in trouble. You've attacked another student, and if you try to do so again, you will face severe consequences." The look on his face showed he wasn't bluffing—and neither were the numerous people around the Great Hall who mirrored that look.

"I think you'll find," Professor McGonagall said loudly, "that it's a little too late for that, Mr. Potter." Seeing the triumphant look on Ronald's face, she explained: "Oh, no, Mr. Weasley. He said you would get in trouble if you took this any further; I was correcting him by pointing out that you are already in a great deal of trouble for it." Ron turned towards her only to see that same dangerous look adorning his Head of House's face. "Of course, you can refuse; if you wish, I can instead send a letter to your mother about picking fights at breakfast?" Ronald's face resumed the ashy colour that had graced it upon the Howler's arrival; muttering under his breath, he stowed his wand and followed McGonagall out of the Great Hall.

After Ron's exit, the Hall calmed down and returned their attention to their meal-and their upcoming classes. Harry, meanwhile, turned his thoughts to one of the loud letter's offhand comments: Mr. Weasley was facing an inquiry at work? The Daily Prophet, which had arrived with the rest of the mail, confirmed this. This was a disaster politically: the Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Division's son was seen by numerous muggles in a flying car that the very same man had manufactured. There were no laws broken, but that he was being investigated would spell bad things for the Muggle Rights bill he was trying to pass in the Wizengamot. His thoughts turned to how he could take advantage of the situation. He began plotting.

As breakfast finished up, and the Heads of House began passing out schedules, Hermione came over, her own schedule already in hand, having been at the end of the Gryffindor table nearest the staff for exactly this purpose. "Harry. Draco. Ginny," she said, greeting them with a smile. "How was your summer?" she asked.

"Interesting," Harry and Draco said at the same time, just a moment before Ginny did. Harry chuckled at the typically vague, Slytherinesque response they'd given simultaneously. Snape came by then, and handed out schedules, sending Hermione an uneasy nod as he left. Harry looked at his and saw that they had double Herbology with the Ravenclaws first. Bidding their goodbyes to Ginny, who had to go to Transfiguration with the other first years, Harry, Draco, and Hermione left the Great Hall together. After they exited, Hermione split off with a quick "See you later", heading towards Charms, while Harry and Draco headed out towards the greenhouses, where the school's supply of magical plants was kept. Harry was frustrated that he hadn't gotten to talk to Hermione for very long, but resolved to have a nice long conversation come lunch time. As they neared the greenhouses, they saw the rest of the class standing outside, waiting for Professor Sprout. The two of them had only just joined them when she came striding into view across the lawn, accompanied by Gilderoy Lockhart.

Professor Sprout's arms were full of bandages and several of the Whomping Willow's branches, now in slings. Professor Sprout was a squat little witch who wore a patched hat over her graying, flyaway hair; there was usually a large amount of earth on her robes and her fingernails would have made Aunt Petunia cringe. Gilderoy Lockhart, however, was utterly immaculate: he was decked in sweeping robes of turquoise, his golden hair shining under a perfectly positioned turquoise hat with gold trimming.

"Oh, hello there!" he called, beaming around at the assembled students. "Just been showing Professor Sprout the right way to doctor a Whomping Willow!" he said with a grand sweep of his arm back behind him, nearly toppling the Herbology professor's hat off in his exuberance. "But I don't want you running away with the idea that I'm better at Herbology than she is. Merlin, no! I just happen to have met several of these...exotic plants on my travels, and thought—"

"Greenhouse three today, chaps!" said Professor Sprout, who was looking distinctly disgruntled, quite unlike her usual cheerful self. There was a murmur of interest. They had only ever worked in greenhouse one before: greenhouse three housed far more interesting and dangerous plants. Professor Sprout took a large key from her belt and unlocked the door. Harry caught a whiff of damp earth and fertilizer mingling with the heavy perfume of some giant, umbrella-sized flowers dangling from the ceiling.

He was about to follow the professor inside when Lockhart's hand shot out. "Harry! I've been wanting a word—you don't mind if he's a couple of minutes late, do you, Professor Sprout?"

"Actually, Professor," Harry spoke up, startling the Defense professor, "I'd rather stay. I have your class after lunch, though; perhaps we could talk then?" Lockhart stared at him blankly for a moment, before his face adopted a dazzling smile. "Not to worry, my boy," he said, drawing a withering glance that he didn't notice. "I'll just wait to talk to you after my own lesson." Giving a sweeping bow to the class, he made his way back towards the castle without another word. As several girls were busy almost swooning at his antics, Harry could only think about what a ponce he was. Still, he thought, as long as the man knew his subject—and didn't annoy him too often—the two of them wouldn't have a problem.

The class entered greenhouse three; the door was shut behind them promptly, and Harry distinctly heard Professor Sprout muttering under her breath about the man. She walked behind a trestle bench in the center of the greenhouse. About twenty pairs of different-colored ear muffs were lying on the bench. Harry and Draco found two empty spots next to each other, and set down. As the last of the students took their seats, Professor Sprout said, "We'll be repotting Mandrakes today! Now, who can tell me the properties of the Mandrake?"

Several hands shot into the air, mostly from the Ravenclaw side of the table. The Slytherins were used to this behavior from the Ravens, and it suited them just fine: it could keep the focus off of them while they subtly "borrowed" plant leaves from some of the other specimens present. What's more, classes with the Ravens meant group work was that much easier, so a little excitement on the other house's part was worth the gain.

The professor called on Lisa Turpin, who was practically hopping up and down. "Mandrake, or Mandragora, is a powerful restorative," Lisa said proudly, sounding, as usual, as though she had swallowed the textbook. She was even worse about it than Hermione used to be, before Harry got her to turn it down a notch. Other than that, she was usually nice enough, but she was practically a walking magical encyclopedia. "It's used to return people who have been transfigured or cursed to their original state."

"Excellent. Ten points to Ravenclaw," said Professor Sprout. "The Mandrake forms an essential part of most antidotes, particularly for magical diseases, poisons, and venoms. It is also, however, dangerous. Who can tell me why?"

Lisa did not wait to be called on this time: "The cry of the Mandrake is fatal to anyone who hears it," she cried out promptly. She received a few dirty looks from the other Ravens and a few Slytherins for taking the opportunity, but the professor didn't notice.

"Precisely. Take another ten points," said Professor Sprout. "Now, the Mandrakes we have here are still very young." She pointed to a row of deep trays as she spoke, and everyone shuffled forward for a better look. A hundred or so tufty little plants, purplish green in color, were growing there in rows; every once in awhile, one would fidget a bit, then grow still. "Everyone take a pair of earmuffs," said Professor Sprout. There was a scramble as everyone tried to seize a pair that wasn't pink and fluffy.

"When I tell you to put them on, make sure your ears are completely covered," said Professor Sprout. "When it is safe to remove them, I will give you the thumbs-up. Right: earmuffs on." Harry snapped the earmuffs over his ears. They shut out sound completely. Professor Sprout put the pink, fluffy pair over her own ears, rolled up the sleeves of her robes, grasped one of the tufty plants firmly, and pulled hard. The sight that greeted them got several responses, though none audible, thanks to the earmuffs: instead of roots, a small, muddy, and extremely ugly baby popped out of the earth. The leaves were growing right out of his head. He had pale green, mottled skin, and was clearly bawling at the top of his lungs.

Professor Sprout took a large plant pot from under the table and plunged the Mandrake into it, burying him in dark, damp compost until only the tufted leaves were visible. Professor Sprout dusted off her hands, gave them all the thumbs-up, and removed her own earmuffs.

"As our Mandrakes are only seedlings, their cries won't kill yet," she said blandly, as though she'd just done nothing more exciting than water a begonia. "However, they will knock you out for several hours, and as I'm sure none of you want to miss your first day back, make sure your earmuffs are securely in place while you work. I will attract your attention when it is time to pack up. Four to a tray—there is a large supply of pots here—compost in the sacks over there. Oh, and be careful of the Venomous Tentacula: it's teething." She gave a sharp slap to a spiky, dark red plant as she spoke, making it draw in the long feelers that had been inching sneakily over her shoulder.

Harry and Draco were joined by Crabbe and Goyle at their tray, much to Draco's consternation; nearing the end of the previous year, he had been able to use Harry's connection to the study group to convince a Ravenclaw or two to join them in group projects, so that he could get away with doing the minimum. Hadrian cared little: as long as he knew the material one way or the other, he was still useful. They didn't have much chance to talk: their earmuffs were back on and they needed to concentrate on the Mandrakes.

Professor Sprout had made it look extremely easy, but it wasn't. The Mandrakes didn't like coming out of the earth, but didn't seem to want to go back into it either. They squirmed, kicked, flailed their sharp little fists, and gnashed their teeth; Harry spent ten whole minutes trying to squash a particularly fat one into a pot. Draco paid the price for toying with one when it nearly bit off his finger. By the end of the class, Harry, like everyone else, was sweaty, aching, and covered in earth. The Slytherins returned to the dungeons for a quick wash-down before Potions: if their concoctions were contaminated by the plant residue they all carried, Professor Snape would have their heads on a platter.

Potions class came and went; Ronald hadn't even tried to sabotage his potion, but that might've been due more to his mother's warning than anything else. Professor Snape was still acting distant: despite his words at the beginning of the previous year, he'd had little interaction with Hadrian outside of his duties as Head of Slytherin House. Harry had been meaning to ask him how he'd known his mother, but wasn't sure how to go about asking without causing unnecessary conflict between himself and the only adult in the school he could really trust to any extent.

Lunch came after Potions class. Hermione, Harry, Draco, and Draco's shadows arrived in the Great Hall to find Ginny already present; she was wandering around the Great Hall, asking several of the upper years questions, although she was too far away to overhear what that was about. It was likely unimportant, Harry decided, before sitting down to a nice meal of small steaks, mashed potatoes, brussel sprouts, and fresh-from-the-oven yeast rolls. Small helpings were sufficient for the midday meal, and allowed for idle conversation between bites. Hermione's parents were warming up to him; if he could keep from doing anything too controversial this year, he would get to meet her parents formally, and she just knew they'd love him once they got to know him. Harry himself wasn't as sure of this, but was willing to consider the possibility.

"I'm not saying he's a poofter, I'm just saying that for all the attention he gets from girls, you'd think he'd have a girlfriend by now; at least for his image," Draco said as he jabbed at some broccoli.

"There are plenty of explanations," Hermione argued. "He could be looking for a meaningful relationship; he could have standards; he could...he could..."

"He could be gay!" Draco emphasized. "Why are you so against the idea? Is it your prudish tendencies, or are you fangirling out on us?"

"Children," Harry said sarcastically. When he saw he had their attention, he asked "What are you arguing about now?"

Hermione pointed at Draco. "He think Professor Lockhart is gay!"

"And she won't even acknowledge it as a possibility!" Draco retorted.

"Well..." Harry trailed off, glancing at the head table where the professor in question was eating. "From the looks of him, he must spend an awfully long time in the morning styling his hair. Of course, the same can be said of you, Draco," he added, causing the blond to flush with indignation. "What's more, his robes are rather...flamboyant. I must say, Hermione, it's a distinct possibility."

"He's not gay," she hissed.

"What've we got this afternoon?" said Harry, hastily changing the subject.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts," said Hermione at once.

"Why," demanded Draco, seizing her schedule, "have you outlined all Lockhart's lessons in little hearts?" He shook it at her, a smirk crossing his face.

Hermione snatched the schedule back, blushing furiously. They finished lunch and went outside into the overcast courtyard. Hermione sat down on a stone step and buried her nose in "Voyages with Vampires" again. Harry and Draco sat down another step up, talking about Quidditch as Crabbe and Goyle loomed in the background. The Quidditch talk was a common front they used to convince people they weren't paying attention, leaving the two snakes to observe things that would normally not be done around them. It was only a minute or so before Harry noticed that he was being closely watched. Glancing up, he stifled a groan as he saw the very small, mousy-haired boy he'd met on the train shuffling towards him with an interesting mix of apprehension and excitement.

"H-hello," he stuttered as he got with speaking distance. "My name's Colin. Er, Colin Creevey," he correct quickly. "I took your picture on the train, Mr. Potter," he said.

"I remember you, Colin," Harry replied, his face the usual expressionless mask. "How's the picture coming?"

The puny Gryffindor beamed as he reached into his bag. "It's done!" he cried, handing Harry a couple of pictures, one wallet-sized, and one 30 cm by 20 cm. "I also have one for you," he said to Draco.

"Woah, woah," Draco said, a bit unnerved by the suddenly energetic lion cub. "I don't recall getting my picture taken, and I don't really want one of Harry."

"Oh, no," Colin said, "It's for your father." He began explaining when he saw Draco's confused look: "I've always wanted to be a journalist and I know you have to know who's who politically to be able to do it right, so I read up on the current political climate in the Wizarding world. Your father's really well-known, and as luck would have it, I ran into him in Diagon Alley last week. I asked him if I could take his picture and he said only if he got an animated copy." He paused to breathe. "Since I wasn't at Hogwarts, I couldn't animate them yet, but now it's done. The thing is, I don't know how to send it to him, or where he lives. Could you—"

"I'll send it to him," Draco said, cutting off the whiny question before it could begin. He put out his hand, giving off a very annoyed feeling. Colin became very nervous again, likely because of Draco's current attitude. He thrust the picture into Draco's hand, dismissed himself, and made off at a rather accelerated rate.

"Signed photos? You're giving out signed photos now, Potter?"

Loud and scathing, Ronald Weasley's voice echoed around the courtyard. He had finally finished his lunch, as evidenced by the crumbs dusting his front. The tentative friends he'd had last year had all but abandoned him, so for the first time, he was on his own in his little game of "Harry-baiting". He seemed to forget that he never won.

"Everyone line up!" Ron called out to the gathering crowd; they paid him no mind, their only interest, as always, being Harry's comeback. "Harry Potter's giving out signed photos!"

"Why the interest, Weasley," Harry asked nonchalantly. "Wanting to sell it for pocket change. Merlin knows you could use some disposable income.

"Don't respond to him, Harry," Hermione said. "He's just a jealous pig trying to get some attention for once."

"I'm more than aware of that, but no matter how many times I'm told it's better to let sheep bleat and think themselves important than to try and get them to shut up, it just doesn't seem to be the case," he responded, turning his head away from his redheaded foe a fraction in response. "Besides, I'm doing my part to raise the school's average I.Q."

"Jealous?!" Ronald cried out, "Jealous of what? I don't want a foul scar right across my head, thanks. I don't think getting your head cut open makes you that special, myself. And I'm rather happy that I've got parents, at least." A hush fell over the crowd; Harry's parents were war heroes, and surely meant everything to him. No one had the nerve to mention them to his face, not even any professors, as far as they knew. This was going to send him over the edge for sure.

And yet, he just looked bored. "My parents have moved on to the next great adventure, as is a natural part of life; they exist in the afterlife, and at least I can say that they're proud of me and my accomplishments." This drew a laugh from several students, from all four houses, too. Ronald was not well liked at all, no sir.

"How DARE you!" Ron screamed, losing his temper. "My parents are too proud of me!"

"Oh yes, bullying your little sister, causing trouble for their guests, stealing their car to fly to Hogwarts, causing them to undergo scrutiny by the government...they must be so proud," Hadrian deadpanned. As Ron made for his wand, he continued "Just remember: one toe out of line, and you'll get to ride the Hogwarts Express this year after all."

The crowd couldn't contain themselves, they bust out laughing at the colours gracing the Gryffindor idiot's face: white, green, red, and purple were flashing across it as time went on, constantly changing. His embarrassment—and anger—were apparent.

"Eat slugs!" he cried, pointing his wand at Harry. He prepared a shield, only to find it was unnecessary: the damage his own foot had done his wand in the bookstore was too great, even when wrapped in Spell-O-Tape. The ginger git was blasted backwards several feet, landing solidly on his rear. Every started laughing even harder when he tried to stand, only to have a slug suddenly expel itself from his mouth. What's more, the sudden violent tremor that wracked his body when he heaved up the slug caused him to lose his balance and fall—directly onto the slug. It sort of squished out from under his face, leaving a slimy line down the middle where he'd landed. Ronald managed to stand up and stagger away, spewing slugs all the while. Their weekly entertainment done, the crowd of students dispersed quickly, leaving the courtyard virtually empty once more.

The five of them made their way towards the DADA classroom without further incident. Making their way inside, they noticed that Ronald hadn't yet returned. The classroom looked very different from when Quirrell had been teaching: the desks were now farther apart, presumably to allow Lockhart to walk down any of the rows if he pleased; an area at the front of the room had been cleared of the chalkboards and professor's desk that had resided there to make a small stage-like area for demonstrations and practice; the massive desk had been pushed over to one side, and was covered in baubles and magical minutiae The walls of the classroom were covered in various paintings of Lockhart himself, each of a different shape and size; behind his desk was a life-sized full body portrait

The many windows surrounding the other side of the classroom were open where Quirrell had kept them closed: the light streaming in from the windows made the lit chandelier overhead (which no longer bore a skeleton of any kind) rather unnecessary. What's more, the smell of fresh rain coming from the windows filled the classroom with its fresh, clean scent. At the back of the classroom, on the same side as the windows, was a staircase that presumably led to the Professor's office; Harry had no idea if this was the case, since he'd never been inside, although he couldn't imagine what else it could be. A private loo, perhaps? Lockhart emerged from the door at the top of the stairs and slowly descended. He walked up and down the rows, smiling at everyone as he passed, making offhand comments every now and then about how much he was enjoying Hogwarts so far.

When the whole class was seated, Lockhart cleared his throat loudly and silence fell. He reached forward, picked up Neville Longbottom's copy of Travels with Trolls , and held it up to show his own, winking portrait on the front. "Me," he said, pointing at it and winking as well. Putting the book down, he began to walk down the aisle between the desks at a slow, grand pace. "Gilderoy Lockhart. Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award...but I don't talk about that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!" He flashed them a grin.

Lavender and Parvati giggled, as did Tracy Davis. Most of the other girls seemed to blush a bit, while the guys just stared at him, silent. "I see you've all bought a complete set of my books: well done. I thought we'd start today with a little quiz—nothing to worry about, just to check how well you've read them, how much you've taken in..." When he had handed out the test papers he returned to the front of the class and said, "You have thirty minutes—starting now!"

Harry looked down at his paper and read:

_1. What is Gilderoy Lockhart s favorite color?_

_2. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?_

_3. What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date?_

On and on it went, over three sides of paper, right down to:

_54. When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday, and what would his ideal gift be?_

Harry was perplexed: all of the questions were related to the books, yes, but they weren't on Defensive Theory or spellwork or anything connected to the course, it was just a 54 question quiz about their professor. "Perhaps," Harry thought, "he's testing us to see if we read. Anyone who didn't read couldn't answer all of these questions. But if all we know is the parts that were relevant to the course work, then we fail the test, even though we studied for the class. How you got the knowledge is unimportant: what matters is how you got it." Regardless, he was not the professor, and how the class was taught was not up to him. Besides, these quizzes couldn't last the whole year...could they?

Several minutes into the test, the door opened, drawing everyone's attention. Ronald Weasley stumbled in, looking quite nauseous, but not to the point of spewing slugs any longer. He cast Harry a withering look, which he pretended not to notice, before taking his seat. He was promptly handed a test by the still beaming professor and put to work.

Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the papers and rifled through them in front of the class. After leafing through them, he gave out a dramatic sigh. "Tut, tut—hardly any of you remembered that my favorite color is lilac. I say so in "Year with the Yeti:. And a few of you need to read "Wanderings with Werewolves" more carefully: I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magical and non-magical peoples—though I wouldn't say no to a large bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky!" He gave them another roguish wink. Draco was now staring at Lockhart with an expression of disbelief on his face; Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, who were sitting in front, were shaking with silent laughter. Hermione, on the other hand, was listening to Lockhart with rapt attention and gave a start when he mentioned her name.

"...but Miss Hermione Granger knew my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair-care potions—good girl! In fact—" he flipped her paper over"—full marks! Where is Miss Hermione Granger?"

Hermione raised a trembling hand.

"Excellent!" beamed Lockhart. "Quite excellent! Take ten points for Gryffindor! And so, to business—" He bent down behind his desk and lifted a large, covered cage onto it. Harry focused on the man, now: he was about to show them why he was one of the best. Professor Lockhart faced the class, a serious look on his face. "Now—be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizard kind! You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room! Know only that no harm can befall you whilst I am here! All I ask is that you remain calm."

In spite of himself, Harry leaned for a better look at the cage: if nothing else, the man certainly had a flair for the dramatic. Lockhart placed a hand on the cover. Dean and Seamus had stopped laughing now, and were contemplating the wisdom of sitting so far forward. Neville sat there, staring resolutely at the cage, despite his front row seat.

"I must ask you not to scream," said Lockhart in a low voice. "It might...provoke them." As the whole class held its breath, Lockhart whipped off the cover. "Yes," he said dramatically. "Freshly caught Cornish pixies." The pixies were electric blue and about eight inches high, with pointed faces and voices so shrill it was like listening to a lot of budgies arguing. The moment the cover had been removed, they had started jabbering and rocketing around, rattling the bars and making bizarre faces at the people nearest them.

Seamus Finnigan couldn't control himself. He let out a snort of laughter that even Lockhart couldn't mistake for a scream of terror. "Yes?" He smiled at Seamus.

"Well, they're not—they're not very—dangerous, are they?" Seamus managed to choke out.

"Don't be so sure!" said Lockhart, waggling a finger annoyingly at Seamus. "Devilish, tricky little blighters they can be!" Most of the guys looked more than a bit dubious, as did a few Slytherin girls. The professor noticed this, and his smile shrunk by a few molars. "Right, then," Lockhart said loudly. Harry got a bad feeling: they weren't dangerous, but in large numbers they could cause chaos. That was a full cage; he wouldn't really..."Let's see what you make of them!" Professor Lockhart said as he opened the cage.

It was pandemonium. The pixies shot in every direction like rockets. Several of them seized Ronald by his robes and lifted him into the air. Several shot straight through the window, showering the back row with broken glass; Nott, Bulstrode, and Brown shrieked as the glass descended on them. The rest proceeded to wreck the classroom more effectively than a rampaging rhino: they grabbed ink bottles and went into a circle, spraying the class with the ink; they shredded books and papers, turning several copies of "Voyages with Vampires" into nothing more than so much confetti;they tore Gilderoy's pictures from the walls, then dropped them onto his desk;they upended the waste basket down the back of the pants of Ron, who was now hanging off the chandelier by the back of his cloak; they grabbed bags and books and parchment and quills and everything else not nailed down and threw them out of the smashed window.

Soon enough, more than half of the class was hiding in the corner; all that were left were Hermione, one of the only Gryffindor not cowering in the face of the pixie menace, Draco, whose hair was a bit ruffled by the mess, the twin wonders Crabbe and Goyle, who had resorted to smacking pixies out of the air with their meaty palms, Neville, who was dodging the pixies' attacks with surprising skill, Tracy Davis, Daphne Greengrass (those two worked well together, it turned out), and last but not least, Harry, who had extended his aura just a bit beyond his skin, causing any pixies heading his way to perform an about-face in search of less intimidating targets. Besides Crabbe and Goyle, they were using various charms, hexes, and jinxes they'd learned from Quirrell or the study group to hold the pixies at bay. In fairness to the other students, most of them had kept their wands in their bags, which were now on the ledge outside the Defense classroom, assuming the wind hadn't taken them and spewed them around the grounds. The group hadn't researched spells for large groups of small enemies, so they were stuck with ray spells, which required you to hit the target. Those pixies were dreadfully fast, and practically miniscule to boot, making spell accuracy difficult at best.

Lockhart was standing near his desk, smiling grandly as if utter anarchy had not just erupted in his classroom. "Come on now:round them up, round them up. They're only pixies," Lockhart shouted over the pixies' constant drone of high-pitched whines. Sighing as he noticed, perhaps for that first time, that the students actually trying were making little headway, he rolled up his sleeves, brandished his wand, and prepared to cast a spell, when two pixies rushed up from between his legs and snatched it out of his hand, throwing it out of the window. He paled, losing the confident look he'd sported for the first time since Harry had met him. As several pixies descended from Ron (whose hair was being turned in a series of very short braids), he gulped and fled into his office; a distinct 'click' could be heard, indicating he'd locked it.

Harry cursed mentally, as he whipped his head around, trying to spot all incoming pixies. Frustrated, he cast several Immobilizing Jinxes, but most missed. The others' efforts were just as fruitful: they needed a new plan, or a deus ex machina, especially since it didn't look like Lockhart would be coming to the rescue. Harry calmed himself, letting go of his senses as he drifted into his mindscape. Faster than would have been possible consciously, his subconscious found a solution. He focused his magic in a way he never had before: rather than pushing the magic out of his body, he began pulling it in. The magic of those around him, the other students and the pixies both, were too stubbornly attached to their bodies to be torn away. The magical energy in the air, however, that had been caused by the pixies' pandemonium, was easy to gather. He channeled the excess energy now coursing through his body into his his left hand: his body could only handle so much extra energy for so long before it began to tear the body apart.

Fortunately, that wouldn't happen for a few minutes, which was a few minutes more time than he needed. He released the pent-up energy, and it expanded away from him in every direction. Guided by his intent, it swept harmlessly through his classmates and hit the pixies dead on. Each one froze for a second, then fell to the floor. Opening his eyes, he saw the floor littered with pixie bodies, each one breathing in quick, shallow lungfuls of air. Most of the class was staring as well, but their gaze was focused on him, rather than their fallen tormentors. The Gryffs huddling against the wall seemed particularly wary of him, judging by their expressions. Ignoring them, Harry cast the Accio summoning spell (the study group had discovered its usefulness, and had added it to their spells known) and summoned his things back from the window they'd been tossed out of. A couple of the others followed suit. The rest of the class just stared stupidly before trying to copy the complex charm, with little success among them.

The bell rang and there was a mad rush toward the exit as several students were anxious to get out of the deathtrap classroom.. As the room quickly emptied, soon enough only Ron, the Silver Trio, and the two stooges remained. As Harry, Hermione, and Draco picked their way past the rubbish now strewn all around the room, as well as the fallen pixies, they heard a pathetic plea from above them: "Please let me down..."

Harry glanced up; Ronald looked quite the sorry sight: his second-hand robes were ripped in several places from the strain of holding him up, his trousers were leaking old parchment, nail clippings, and dust, and his face was covered in tears and snot, depending on what part you were talking about. With an inward sigh, Harry sent a light Cutting Curse at the boy. It sliced through just enough of his cloak to cause him to fall; a quick, powerful levitation spell, and Harry had managed to slow down Weasley's descent just enough so that nothing broke when he landed. By the time he was picking himself off the floor, Harry had swept out of the room, his friends in tow.

"Why did you do that?" Draco asked.

"Last year," Hadrian replied, his gaze fixed forward, "We nearly got caught by pushing him too far and the one trick up his sleeve we weren't prepared. Besides," he added, as he pulled out the Marauder's Map, "Even Ronald has his uses, and it's easier to control him if he's not completely set against us. I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." As lines and dots covered the massive parchment, the conversation switched to the class they'd just had.

"Can you believe Lockhart?" said Draco as they made their way to the courtyard. "Releasing those thing into the classroom."

"He just wants to give us some hands-on experience," said Hermione, who was still reorganizing her bag from the mess the pixies had caused.

Harry put in his own theory: "It could also have just been that he was trying to prove that anything can be a threat if you act foolishly around it. He's taken on some rather powerful creatures."

Draco disagreed. "I for one don't think he knew what he was doing."

"Rubbish," said Hermione. "You've read his books: look at all those amazing things he's done!"

"He lost his wand to a pair of pixies," Draco retorted.

"They surprised him," she countered. "Most wizards aren't ever in their life capable of wandless casting. It's no surprise that he was a bit..." she trailed off, searching for the right word.

"Scared?" Draco asked smugly.

"Unprepared," she replied.

There was silence for a few moments, before Crabbe of all people asked a question: "But didn't Potter just cast wandless?" Draco stared at him. "Y'know, that ball of black that hit the pixies 'n' stuff."

"Yes I did, but it was very difficult," Hadrian replied. "But then, I'm a rather special person."

"I'm supposed to meet with my father today, Harry," Draco said, steering the conversation in a new direction. At the other Slytherin's glance, he explained "He's been taking a more direct interest in my education, and is planning on using his position as a member of the Board of Governors to speak to me every once in awhile. Come on, you two," he said to Crabbe and Goyle. "Let's get going. Good day, Hermione." The three of them left, taking a side corridor towards the dungeons.

After another minute of walking, Hermione spoke up: "Okay, Harry spill: why did you really save Ron? Lockhart could've released him once he came out."

"The reasons I stated before are perfectly valid," he replied. At her knowing smile, he continued, saying "It may also be helping to perpetuate the lie that I'm a Gryffindor goody two-shoes at heart. People are easier to manipulate if you can control their opinion of you." Hermione nodded, satisfied with his answer. What Harry did not mention was that his plans for Draco would be easier to bring about if there was evidence to his better nature; best to leave that explanation for another day: right now, he had homework to do...homework, and research into the higher forms of magic.

—September 3, 1992—

Hadrian Potter was wide awake, despite his best efforts to achieve blissful slumber. This week had been going well enough, but his mind kept coming up with something new to think about, preventing him from giving into Morpheus' embrace. Tossing and turning for the last time, Harry quietly got out of bed and slipped into the hallway leading to the common room, whipping out his cloak and map as he planned his evening. A quick trip to the kitchens would do him some good; the elves always had the perfect midnight snacks. Then maybe swing by the library and sneak into the Restricted Section: he still needed to do some research into wandless magic theory, and it was considered too difficult and dangerous to be made available to everyone—just another sign of the school's borderline incompetence, in his opinion. Then he could go visit—

"Ahem." Stopping to look up at the unexpected noise, he saw Ginny sitting in one of the armchairs by the fire, with the chair facing away from it. The lighting effect, causing her to appear as the barest silhouette, combined with her crossed arms and legs gave her an ominous look that would have shaken anyone else. Hadrian Potter was only mildly impressed at how well she'd pulled together such an intimidating act.

"Can I help you?" he deadpanned. She blinked in confusion, ruining the effect she'd been having. After several seconds of silence, which he presumed she spent trying to come up with some witty comeback, he said "If not, I'll have to ask you to excuse me, for I must be off." He turned to leave.

"Wait!" she cried out. He turned back, raising an eyebrow in question. She continued: "You're going to go see Sable, right? That's why you're leaving." Silence. "I've been asking around, and no one seems to know who she is. You said you met her at Hogwarts, but she's not a student...or a professor...or a ghost...or even a painting. I've checked, and no one's ever heard of Sable." Silence. "Can I meet her?"

Harry continued regarding his new friend in silence. "You could meet her..." he began, and Ginny brightened. "...once you learned to defend yourself."

Ginny frowned. "I know how to duel," she retorted. "And fight, too," she added at his disdainful look. It didn't disappear.

"Sable lives in the forest, which I've been visiting regularly since second semester of first year," Harry said. "I can get away with that because I'm quite capable magically, at least enough to hold my own. Even in the worst case situation, I have my own means of escaping danger that you don't have access to."

"Could you take me with you in that escape method?" she asked. His slight hesitation was enough answer. "Then take me with you," she declared. "I won't get in the way, I'll do whatever you tell me to while we're in there—" he smirked as she added that little clause, "—and we'll leave whenever you say so. Can I please come with?"

Harry stood staring at her, debating in his mind. Finally, he said "You can come with, but I'm making a few stops first. If we have problems later in the forest, I will be taking you back here, and we will be talking about why it's not a good idea. Unfortunately, you are too strong-willed to take my word on this; you need to experience the forest for yourself to know how out of your league you are, and it's better if I'm there to bail you out."

"You've gone in the forest," she said petulantly. "Alone, too. What makes you so different?" She got out of the chair and walked over, frowning as she did.

"I didn't go alone the first time," he replied as he turned towards the exit. "What's more, I was and am far more capable than the average first year; even the above average first year. I did extensive research into the forest, and didn't set foot inside without knowing what I was getting into." She opened her mouth to reply, but he continued, adding "Finally, you are afraid to die, whereas I have sought out death before. Dying holds no fear for me, so going into the forest isn't so bad, even if I do perish. But I will not be responsible for your death."

He began to walk, quickly making his way out of the common room; Ginny followed him closely. His voice dropping to a whisper, he finished with "Which is why you must do as I say while within the forest. Everything will be to keep you safe. I can handle myself, as can Sable, but we've been doing this for quite some time. Now follow me...and keep quiet: Filch is just a few cell rows over."

Their journey took them through shortcuts and side passages Harry had long since memorized. He pointed out various interesting paintings to Ginny, all the while keeping one eye on the map. He steered her around and away from the cantankerous caretaker, patrolling prefects, and prankish poltergeists. They reached the kitchens without incident, where the house elves attempted to load them down with more food than they could carry, much less what they could eat. Harry managed to talk them down to a couple of snacks, before asking if they had any Blood Pops. According to Mipsy, the elf currently taking care of them, there was a small collection of various snacks left behind or dropped by students that elves found over the years. Most of the pastries didn't last too long, but Blood Pops lasted forever; they had a small pile of them available. Harry took a few, before thank the elf and leaving. Ginny thought it was strange, but didn't question it.

Moving on, they made their way into the library, working their way towards the Restricted section. Ginny, who'd been getting impatient, was temporarily distracted from the prospect of meeting Sable at the sight of all the books she wasn't allowed to check out for safety's sake. She found one with an interesting title: "Potions, Chemistry, and Everything in Between". She reached out and took it off the shelf, but before she could open it, Harry snatched it from her and tapped the cover with his wand, muttering "Libro Somnus" as he did. He explained "The books are trapped with a Screaming Spirits illusion charm: if you open it without disarming it, it starts shrieking and won't stop until the spell is cast." She looked chastised, and opened the book sheepishly. After more than a few minutes, she grew bored. Replacing the book, she found Harry with three books open in front of him, comparing a few things between them. With a satisfied look, he shut all three with a wave of his hand and put them back where they belonged.

They moved on, making their way through the halls once more without incident, eventually slipping out one of the side entrances to the castle. As they made their way to the forest, Ginny cast a Lumos. At his questioning glance, she replied "What? It's dark out here!" in defense of her actions. Harry remembered that he'd altered his eyes to see in the dark. "Didn't you need a light, too?" she asked.

"I've made do without it," he replied, his eyes sweeping the forest edge to see if they'd attracted any undue attention yet. "Let's keep moving."

Entering the forest, Ginny followed him as he made his way through paths long since memorized; well, less paths and more slightly less dense undergrowth. Climbing over fallen trees and pushing through bushes and tall grass, he made he his way ever deeper into the forest proper. As they travelled, Ginny occasionally asked where they were going in a hushed voice, only to be shushed by Harry, who was keeping his eyes and ears open, scanning for potential threats: so far, they'd come close to a small group of centaurs guarding unicorns, but they wouldn't bother wizards unless the unicorns were attacked. A quick fight with a couple of wolves (not weres, thankfully), and they had reached the clearing where he usually met his darker female friend.

Ginny had done surprisingly well against the small wolf pack: she'd tossed around a couple of spells that were above her year, although she didn't seem to have much grasp of the theory behind the spells, so there was still room to improve. As they entered the clearing, she spoke up: "Are we there yet?" she said in a slightly whiny tone of voice.

"Yes," Harry said, his hearing on overdrive, attempting to search for the slightest little noise indicating—

"Harry, look out!" Ginny cried. He felt a off-center hex flying at his head; skipping backwards, he found himself encased by a pair of pale arms.

"Hello, Harry," a voice purred from behind him. "I was wondering what was taking so long. Did you miss me? Because I've missed you." He turned his head slightly, only to be greeted by the sight of his vampiric friend. Sable had grown, even more than he had: where before she looked positively prepubescent, now she looked to be right around his age, or perhaps Ginny's. Her hair had been cut shorter, so that now it only barely whispered against her shoulders, rather than descending past them and well down her back. He vaguely noticed that, where once she had worn what looked like rather worn-out rags, she now wore what looked like shaped leather, dyed to blend into the shadows as her hair did. He felt her cold fingers tracing a pattern over his palm in a seemingly meaningless show of intimacy.

"I have missed your company, yes," he replied. "You have a certain view on life I find most welcoming to my own." The pattern paused, then continued, faster than before.

"Harry, get away from her," Ginny said. "She's a...a..."

"Vampire?" he asked. A sharp intake of breath, as if Ginny's worst fears had been realized, was audible. "Yes, she is. Ginny, I believe you wanted to meet my friend Sable."

"W-what?" Ginny said, confused.

Quick as a flash, Sable had disappeared from around Harry and had darted over to Ginny. She walked in circles around the nervous redhead, as if inspecting a horse. Ginny held her wand up, ready to fire, but glanced nervously at Harry, who said nothing, watching on. Finally, Sable spoke again: "I see you've made another friend. And a redhead at that." She paused before continuing. "I've heard that red hair indicates a fiery temper...and a fiery passion. Is this true?" she asked; it was unclear who she was asking. "Regardless, she'd make a fine pet...but I assume that's not why you've brought her here," she said, glancing in Harry's direction.

"Harry..." Ginny said, unsure of what to do; the girl in front of her was a vampire, and was within biting distance, but she was Harry's friend: what should she do?

"Her name is Ginny—" Harry began.

"So I've gathered," came the reply.

"-and she found me leaving the common room. She wished to meet you, and I decided to take the opportunity to teach her that sometimes, it's best to leave certain things alone. She's been warned of the dangers of the forest, and with me here to help weather them, it should serve as a deterrent to keep her from wandering in here by herself."

"I can handle myself in a fight!" Ginny cried indignantly.

Before Harry could respond to that, Sable spoke up: "Is that so?" she asked, twirling around the girl; Ginny twisted to keep an eye on her. When she found that Sable had disappeared into the darkness, she panicked and fired off a stinging hex. Because of her fractured nerves, her Lumos went out. A quick rush of sound, no louder than a light breeze, and the light was replaced, this time emanating from Harry's wand. The scene that appeared did not surprise him in the least: Sable was standing next to Ginny once more, one hand at her throat while the other twirled her wand back and forth. "Were it not for certain..." Sable cast around, her eyes glancing at Harry briefly, "...mitigating factors, you would be dead right now. Of course, the Ministry would cause problems for my people if a student was drained or turned. That wouldn't matter too much if you had been fighting, say, an Acromantula."

"Sable," Hadrian said, his voice tinged with a hint of warning; the vampiress released Ginny immediately, handing over her wand as well. Ginny took her wand back, her hand visibly shaking in the magical light.

"This forest is a dangerous place, little girl," Sable continued, her face now devoid of emotion. "You have no place in it, not until you learn to really fight."

"We need to leave," Harry said suddenly, straining his senses to pick up what he'd briefly detected. "Now." He turned abruptly and left the clearing; the two girls glanced at each other with distaste before setting off after him. He quickly picked up the pace, but made sure Ginny could keep up. He bounded over boulders and fallen trees, making his way towards the meadow: he and Sable had used it to escape pursuing vampires before. The noise their hunters made had grown loud enough for Ginny to hear, and she hurried herself after Harry. Upon reaching the clearing, Harry slowed down enough to grab both girls' arms as he passed through the boundary. A sound not unlike an electric fence came from behind them no two seconds later.

Hadrian dropped his light, leaving only the overhead moon lighting the night before them. As was usually the case, the tree in the middle of the meadow had attracted animals of all shapes and sizes. A breeze blew through the grass, creating a beautiful ripple effect.

"You risk much," he heard in a deep, smooth voice from behind him. He turned to see that, unlike every other time, one of the vampires had stayed just outside the clearing rather than retreating. His hood was drawn up in such a way that only his eyes were visible beneath thecowl. He was looking at Sable, which intrigued Harry: what was she risking?

"That is my choice...unless my father has changed his ruling in this matter?" she asked imperiously. The other vampire's eyes narrowed. "The Code of Blood will be upheld in their original intent, not the selfish interpretation we've become used to. Begone."

"As you wish," he spat out, before vanishing into the shadows.

"Harry," Ginny said slowly, casting glances at Sable. "What's going on?"

"Politics," he replied. "Now it it time for you to return to the common room. I'll be back in a few minutes, if you don't mind waiting a bit," he added, addressing Sable. She nodded with a smile.

"But Harry—" Ginny began.

"No," he interrupted. "The point has been made." He grabbed her arm and dragged her through the shadows back to the common room. She gasped, shaking as if doused in ice water.

"What the hell was that about?!" she cried out, making him fortunate he'd cast a Silencing charm upon their arrival.

"Ginny, please be quiet while I explain," he said with a sigh. "Last year, when I went into the forest as part of a detention, I met up with Sable. She was possessed by a dark spirit, which I managed to expel from her. No," he said, seeing her question coming, "I will not tell you how I did it. Magic works differently for magical creatures, and the laws she abides by say she owes me a debt. The normal way these things are settled is that I would be captured by vampires and brought to their tribe, where I would be turned. It is one of the only situations where the Ministry's hands are tied regarding vampiric turning."

"Sable decided, as you heard, that she was obeying the original intent rather than the newest interpretation; she gives me the choice, and I've declined." He paused. "Now as for why I don't think it's safe for you to go in the forest quite yet. I have several advantages that allow me to do so: firstly, I had my eyes altered magically before first year, allowing me to see in the dark. This is one of the reasons that I haven't signed up to be on the Quidditch team this year except as a reserve: most games take place late afternoon, and if the game goes long enough, night will fall—"

"And you'd have to leave the game or forfeit due to favorable enchantments," she said.

"Precisely. The light we had going tonight attracted unwanted attention; we only had it going because you can't see in the dark, as Sable and I can. Usually, it takes a while for us to be found. If you went into the forest alone, you would attract every predator within line of sight and sound. Incidentally, you are virtually incapable of moving without making enough noise to alert every creature in the vicinity to your presence, whereas I have years of sneaking and stealthy movement practice under my belt." he paused before continuing. "I also have a method of travelling that isn't blocked by the Hogwarts wards, as you've seen." She frowned at this, but he continued. "And I'm much more capable than most second years."

"So am I," she said indignantly.

"Ginny, at the end of last year, I was ambushed by four seventh years; I managed to put them all in the hospital wing, but the effort knocked me unconscious. The move that put two of them out for the count I made while being subjected to the Cruciatus Curse. I dueled another seventh year, wagering my House against his. It was not a fight, but a slaughter: he stood no real chance once I started playing dirty. I'm simply operating on another level, one most people won't reach for years."

"Okay, okay!" Ginny snapped. "I'm not ready to go into the forest! But Harry, you can't trust her! She'll turn you."

"No, she won't. Not at this point, at any rate. She's had plenty of opportunities to do so. Besides that, she is my friend, and I won't abandon her friendship on your say-so."

"But she's..." Ginny trailed off. "She's a dark creature. She's no good for you."

Hadrian's expression grew cold. "Reality begs to differ." Ginny shuddered at the look being directed at her: looking into his eyes felt draining in a way she couldn't describe. "This is your mother talking through you. Don't judge someone without knowing them: otherwise, you're no better than Ronald." He sighed, and the cold feeling she was getting dropped off. "Get some rest, Ginny.'" he said, before he vanished into the darkness. Ginny sat in the common room for a while. Eventually, she got up and shuffled off to her room, crying herself to sleep.

Hadrian returned to the clearing; sure enough, Sable was still waiting for him, although she looked rather uncomfortable. He surmised that the spirit of the meadow didn't approve of her presence, and since he hadn't been with her for a while, it was trying to drive her out.

"I don't like her," Sable said. Harry gave a mental sigh: getting these two to work together in the future was going to test his diplomatic skills to their limit, he just knew it.

"She's capable enough, for someone of her age and experience," he replied.

"That just means she has above-average power, it says nothing of her skill," she retorted. "I know you have...plans for the future of the magical world; we've talked about them enough times for me to know what they entail, in the broader sense of things. And I just know you'll want my help. I will have to work with her, or worse, Vladimir forbid, depend on her. That is what troubles me." She looked at him, and her gaze softened. "I trust you, but she's..."

"She is of a similar opinion about you," Harry said. "I intend to use that to better her: she will train herself up, just so she's good enough to enter the forest on her own...just so she's good enough to take you on, and win. She sees you as a rival, someone to compete with." He paused, "Maybe not at this instant," he amended. "Right now, she'll be questioning her trust in me. But I'll be winning that back soon enough. After that, she will try to best you whenever the two of you meet; it should serve as motivation for the both of you to better yourselves."

Sable chuckled at this. "You're always a step ahead, aren't you."

"At least one," he agreed. "Usually more. I've been wondering," he said, changing the subject, "When you sent me this," he pulled out the dagger, "Your note was signed S.D. What's the D stand for?"

She grimaced. "It's not that important." At his insistent stare, she relented. "It's Dracul, okay?"

His eyes widened a bit, almost imperceptibly. "I suspected so. I suppose this means you're descended from—"

"Yes," she said, cutting him off. "I'm not exactly...normal, for a vampire. I have special rules I must abide by, more so than most. But the extra rules also come with freedoms I wouldn't normally have, like exploring the forest at my leisure." She smiled. "So...what do you say we go see if the baby dragons are in the mood to play?"

He recognized her attempt to change the subject. "I will drop the point for now. But this conversation isn't over," he said. "You will eventually explain what that entails."

She snorted. "As if you'd just let it go. But let's not talk about it tonight, okay? I'm just not...comfortable with all that stuff: it's caused me not end of problems." He relented, and after a quick discussion on what to do, the two of them ran off into the night, in search of entertainment.

* * *

A.N.: There you have it: conflict, drama, and intrigue, as promised. And it only gets better from here.

Quick, show of hands: who thinks my Lockhart will turn out to be a fraud? Who thinks Ginny has Tom's diary? Who thinks Pettigrew betrayed the Potters? Who thinks Moody will be replaced by Barty Crouch Junior?

...

Life has a funny habit of turning expectations on their heads, don't it?

Please leave a review on the way out, if you will. Thanks, and goodbye until next time, which will hopefully be soon.


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